


Fairer Sex, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action, Characters - Friendship, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - Good villain(s), Characters - Outstanding OC(s), Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - Fast moving, Plot - Good pacing, Post-War of the Ring, Subjects - Culture(s), Subjects - Economics, Subjects - Geography, Subjects - Military, Subjects - Politics, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2003-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 82,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3737747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of a signing a historic treaty with the Easterlings that will ensure peace, Aragorn and the other leaders of Middle earth find themselves trapped by a spell that bends their will to the purpose of the beautiful Easterling queen. As enemy troops began to move into Minas Tirith, it is up to Arwen, Eowyn and the newly arrived Lothiriel of Dol Amroth to find a way to break the spell before the enemy accomplishes what Sauron could not, the talking of the White City and Middle earth with it. .</p><p>STORY (5)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Survivors

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Somehow they had escaped. 

  


  
In the midst of utter destruction, they had somehow survived where many   
of their kindred had not. Allies, who had fought with them, now lay buried and   
forgotten, their corpses becoming nothing more than sustenance for the bottom   
feeders on the seabed. They themselves had narrowly escaped such a terrible fate   
and their own number had been greatly reduced during the exodus from their   
ruined city. Now there was only a handful where there had been many and the   
survivors were at a loss over what to do next. 

  


At the time, their imperative had been to escape the rising deluge of water   
that filled the cavern where their city was sheltered for so many ages. Fleeing   
the tide of the cold sea that pursued them amidst the destruction of falling   
rocks and boulder like fragments of crumbling ceiling, they had thought little   
of what would come once they escaped the immediate peril. However, upon emerging   
once again to what was relatively steady ground, they discovered that the danger   
had not passed even though they were for momentarily safe. For so long, their   
city had protected them. It kept them safe from the outside world and as they   
sat at the feet of their master whose schemes would have made it possible for   
them to leave their city and emerge into the world again, it never even occurred   
to them that he might fail.

  


Or worse yet, be killed.

  


But killed hie was and the great plan had failed, the one the Master had   
assured would return them to existence they knew before the sunlight had filled   
the cracks of the world with its blinding light. Before the First Age of the   
Sun, the world had been as a paradise to them, a time where they were filled   
with the sinful delights of pleasure borne out of pain. When the dark lord   
Morgoth had ruled the world, they had been at the height of their power. To   
them, it was a time still spoken of in whispers of awe and reverence. To make   
the world as it once was, they had served their new master when Morgoth had been   
banished to the void and the shape of Middle earth changed beyond recognition in   
the War of Wrath. 

  


  
In the face of the cataclysmic battle that had been fought and the   
subsequent destruction of Beleriand which took with it Angband and much of   
Morgoth’s army, they had been driven to hide out of fear. During the war, their   
value had always been in concealment and subterfuge. They were created as a   
covert weapon unlike the Balrogs whose purpose was destruction in all its grand   
chaos. They walked among the enemy, listening and reporting back their   
observations to their master. When Morgoth had been vanquished, it was easy   
enough for them to hide and with the Valar more concerned with the Balrogs,   
firedrakes and other demon spirits fighting openly, it was easy to be   
forgotten.

  


With the end of the war, they had bound themselves to a new master and for   
many ages, they served him well and were contented to remain within the city   
under the sea. Their new master had also served Morgoth and like them, wished to   
serve the dark lord again. His plan was audacious to say the least but it would   
bring Morgoth back to them and there was nothing they would not do to see that   
accomplished. After waiting for so long, the vassal in that Morgoth would   
inhabit upon his return was finally conceived and the master’s plan was finally   
coming to fruition.

  


It should have worked. 

  


It would have if not for the determination of the she elf and her companions   
to save her child from the blessing of Morgoth’s spirit. They had underestimated   
her and were paid dearly for their mistake for the she elf had aided the death   
of their master and brought down their city upon their heads. The plan lay   
ruined forever beneath the sea, along with the carcass of their master and the   
allies who would have helped them usher in a new order if only Morgoth been   
allowed to inhabit the body of the child slumbering within the she elf’s   
womb.

  


After their escape, the survivors banded together, united by their confusion   
and fear because for the first time in their lives, they had no leader, no one   
to tell them what to do. Many were prepared to find other enclaves in the dark,   
to hide again. It might have transpired this way if one of them had not made the   
suggestion that perhaps what was needed was a new plan, one that they would   
carry out themselves, without the need of a master to guide their actions or   
allies upon whom they could rely on. Perhaps they could not bring Morgoth back   
to Middle earth but they could change it to suit their needs.

  


Emerging into the sunlight for the first time in eons, they soon learnt how   
to move safely through this world they had feared for so long. While they   
traveled sometimes during the day, under guises that ensured no one would accost   
them, mostly their journey took place by night. It appeared that exodus was not   
an uncommon thing in Middle earth these days. The Eldar were also leaving the   
shores of Middle earth. Arda was being left to the race of men and this suited   
them well for men did not have the sight or the senses to perceive them as the   
elves did. Even if they did encounter the First Born, they had means of   
concealing themselves. They were aware of craft that was old even when the Eldar   
were first awakened at Cuinvienen.

  


If they had to, they could remain hidden from anyone.

  


They crossed the Misty Mountains, visited the ruins of Dol Goldur before   
crossing Mirkwood to take the river into the Sea of Rhun, into the lands that   
were laid claim to by the folk known to the rest of Middle earth as the   
Easterlings. Like they had been after Morgoth’s banishment to the void, the   
Easterlings were similarly displaced. They were a warrior people, bred to fight   
and relishing victory and battle in all its forms. The enforced peace they had   
no choice but to endure, thanks to the destruction of Sauron, was a found   
festering upon their pride. The new arrivals finally found the instrument with   
which they could secure their place in Middle earth as well as strike a blow of   
vengeance against the she elf that had ruined everything. 

  


It was an easy enough matter to infiltrate the Easterling ranks with none of   
the race having the slightest inkling that there were those among them that were   
not men but something else completely. The new arrivals were swift to   
consolidate their power and though they did not overtly reveal themselves, they   
found that the Easterlings were easily manipulated because of their inherent   
dislike for the Reunified Kingdom. The power of the Easterling had well and   
truly been broken by the defeat of Sauron. The loss left deep wounds upon their   
pride that was worsened because of the peace they were forced to accept. 

  


The lord of the Easterlings had begrudgingly entered negotiations with Minas   
Tirith to establish new lines of trade and commerce so that his people could   
begin to prosper after so many years of war. Though the idea of peace was   
abhorrent to the men of the southern lands, the fact remained that without   
Mordor they were starving. For years, the dark lord had kept them fed by   
allotting them portions of tributes gathered from other lands subservient to   
Mordor. The arrangement ensured that the armies of men under his yoke could   
focus singularly on the business of war. 

  


Unfortunately, with the demise of Sauron, this delicately poised balance had   
shattered and suddenly, men who had lived all their lives as soldiers were faced   
with the reality of starvation. So few Easterling resources had been directed   
towards agriculture and pastoral farming that without Mordor’s aid, the southern   
lands were quickly descending into poverty. Thus, the need to forge an alliance   
of some sort with their old enemies was not only a necessary evil but also an   
urgent imperative. King Elessar, aware of the deteriorating situation had   
extended the hand of friendship, hoping to bring order to the realm by a gesture   
of goodwill. 

  


The years following the war had been good ones for Gondor and its surrounding   
neighbors, a gift of grain was thus offered the Easterlings as an overture of   
friendship to solidify relations between the former enemies. The Easterlings   
were proud but like the Corsairs and Wainriders who were driven to make similar   
agreements, they had little choice but to accept Gondor’s offer of aid. The   
negotiations had continued over a number of months as both sides were cautious   
of each other and rightly so. It was no easy thing to shirk years of hostility   
in order forge something better and while Elessar was willing to make   
concessions to leave the Easterlings with their dignity, he would not relinquish   
the sovereignty of Gondor to dictate some terms.

  


The culmination of all this was a treaty that was historic in every sense of   
the word. It meant that for the first time since the race of men had emerged   
from Hildorien, they would stand together as one. Across Middle earth from Rohan   
to Dol Amroth and Ithilien, the respective leaders of each realm were converging   
upon the White City for a gathering that would welcome the Easterlings as their   
neighbors.

  


Unknown to any of them, not even the Easterlings, they would have some   
_unexpected_ guests.

  



	2. Chapter One: Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of a signing a historic treaty with the Easterlings that will ensure peace, Aragorn and the other leaders of Middle earth find themselves trapped by a spell that bends their will to the purpose of the beautiful Easterling queen. As enemy troops began to move into Minas Tirith, it is up to Arwen, Eowyn and the newly arrived Lothiriel of Dol Amroth to find a way to break the spell before the enemy accomplishes what Sauron could not, the talking of the White City and Middle earth with it. .

The spell was ancient.

  


  


The language in which it was recorded was almost as immortal   
and when spoken, it did not sound like words but rather like music. It was a   
composition of tribute by those who still remembered the songs of the Ainur   
before the children of Iluvutar bound themselves to their earthly existence as   
the Valar. Each line of the spell was lyrical and to hear it recited was no   
different than hearing a song being sung. The book in which the spell was kept   
was an heirloom that time had allowed to be forgotten. It was a relic of the   
past; believed to have been a possession of an ancestor who claimed to be of   
elvish descent. For years it had languish in the treasury of Dol Amroth,   
collecting dust and forgotten by those who mattered and would have been doomed   
to that oblivion if not for its discovery by the first daughter of Dol Amroth,   
Lothiriel.

  


  


There were those who said that she was the fairest in the land,   
save the Queen of Gondor herself. The daughter of Prince Imrahil, ruler of Dol   
Amroth, she was known to be a great beauty with long dark hair and gold flecked   
eyes that sparkled with each change of mood. Many who had seen her were smitten   
but so far, the lady remained unmarried though not to lack of offers. As she   
grew further into womanhood, whispers at the court of Dol Amroth spoke of   
certain eccentricities in her character that the Prince was trying hard to keep   
silence. Lothiriel was believed to be preoccupied with magic and was known to   
cast spells. She had no wish to marry despite Imrahil’s best efforts to   
introduce suitors that would meet her favor.

  


  


However, it was also spoken of in whispers, that the Prince’s   
patience was wearing thin and he would soon exercise his right as her father to   
make the choice for her if she would not choose herself. In truth, he could have   
married her off as early as he wished but Imrahil loved his daughter, he wished   
her to find a mate that would please her, just as he had done when he took her   
mother’s hand in marriage. Unfortunately, it became apparent that she would not   
wed unless forced into it and her devotion to magic was disconcerting to her   
father because it did not abate with time, but rather deepened.

  


  


In an age where Sauron’s evil was finally vanquished and the   
elves were departing swiftly into legend, the practice of magic was not favored   
in the eyes of men. The people of the Reunified Kingdom had endured their fill   
of magic, sorcerers and the dark arts. They had little patience to stomach it   
further. Thus it was it was very terribly disturbing for Imrahil to have his own   
daughter engaging in the study of such arcane knowledge. When she was a child,   
he had indulged her, assuming that the fascination would fade in time.   
Erroneously he believed as all fathers faced with an unpleasant truth about a   
beloved child, that she would outgrow it. Unfortunately, she had not done so. To   
his dismay, he realized that her fascination had evolved into obsession.

  


  


If anything gave Imrahil comfort at this point, it was the fact   
that as a witch, Lothiriel simply was not very good.

  


  


Over the years, he had become accustomed to her failures. Some   
episodes had been amusing, the others simply embarrassing but very few were   
actually dangerous although it was becoming increasingly harder to ignore the   
frequency of the spells going awry. In fact, Imrahil could not even begin to   
recall if any of her spells had actually transpired as it should instead of   
mutating into something unexpected that made his groan in chagrin because more   
often then not, it would require his intervention to repair the damage.

  


  
As she chanted the words from the spell book that had   
become something of an oddity in her family’s legacy, a keepsake handed down   
from generation to generation, with origins were obscure as they were unknown,   
Lothiriel knew that she had to a succeed in at least one casting. Her father’s   
patience was almost at and end and Lothiriel was not oblivious to the talk about   
court that he was actually giving thought to what he had previously considered   
unthinkable, finding a suitable match for her in marriage. 

  


  


Somehow she had to convince him that she was in possession of   
skills that would require the tempering that came with proper instruction. Since   
the defeat of Nameless One and the establishment of an order of wizards at   
Isengard by the Grey Pilgrim, Lothiriel had dreamed of going to Isengard to   
learn how to be a true wizard. Her suggestion to her father that he might let   
her go to the wizards at Isengard to be instructed had been met with outright   
refusal, mostly because her father did not believe she was capable of conjuring   
magic.

  


  


Lothiriel sat on the floor in the center of the room. A circle   
of cord surrounded her, allowing her to focus the energy required for the spell   
she was casting to remain trapped in one place. Within the circle, or the deosil   
as it was sometimes known, she laid out the ingredients she would need for her   
conjuring and continued to read from the book. She knew some of the words by   
heart and others needed her eyes upon the page to be spoken, nevertheless they   
spilled form her lips in a strange chant. She did not pause as she recited them,   
her eyes closed as she attempted to feel some trace of the power she knew was   
inside her. 

  


  


She was desperate for this spell to work or else she would be   
torn away from her home and all she knew to be used as a pawn in her father’s   
games of alliance. She would not marry against her will but if this failed, she   
would have no other choice.

  


  


As her chanting grew more fevered, she felt her face flushed   
with heat and suddenly to her surprise, the gradual fluttering she felt in the   
pit of her stomach became stronger and more insistent, like the flapping wings   
of a great eagle inside of her. The sensation made her heart soar and suddenly a   
surge of certainty filled her veins like the rushing of blood. Her breath   
quickened as her eyes clamped shut and suddenly the room around her disappeared   
and what she saw after that was not to be described to anyone save herself. 

  


  


However, while she spoke not of what she saw, its effect upon   
the room was most marked. The air became frozen inside her circle, moving around   
her like swirls of smoke. A luster of ice became to form on the floor and on   
herself but she noticed nothing of the cold for she was too entrapped by the   
spell to know anything beyond the words she was saying. Within the circle, it   
was as Eru had breathed a blizzard into air and it circled her like a vortex of   
ice and cold. 

  


  


Whether or not it was the chanting of the sudden drop in   
temperature that was felt by everyone else in the House of Imrahil, it mattered   
little because the Prince of Dol Amroth was summoned quickly to his daughter’s   
room. He burst into the confines of her chamber, not requiring permission or any   
need to announce himself since he was lord and master of her, before coming to a   
halt at the sight before him. His daughter sat in the middle of the odd circles   
of magic he had become accustomed to seeing over the years, watching a veritable   
snowstorm worthy of any that might be found at the peak of Caradhras, presently   
raging inside her chamber.

  


  


"LOTHIRIEL!" He shouted.

  


  


Her eyes snapped open in shock for his was the only voice that   
could return her to herself. As she struggled to maintain her composure at his   
sudden intrusion, she found her control of the spell slipping and though she   
struggled desperately to rein the powerful forces she had invoked, she had   
neither the knowledge of the skill to keep it from being turned inside out.   
Suddenly, instead of snow and ice, there was smoke, thick yellow clouds of it   
that gave off the scent that was not unlike the belch from Mount Doom in Mordor.   
The smell was foul indeed and as her control collapsed completely, so did the   
limitations she had placed upon the spell within the confinement of the circle   
of protection.

  


  


The yellow smoke spread throughout the room, sending both   
father and daughter into a fit of coughing when it swept past and around them in   
its bid to escape the walls confining it. Very soon, similar sounds could be   
heard beyond the open door of her chambers, from the corridors and the   
staircase. Imrahil swept aside the odious clouds of smoke and made his way to   
the window that was slightly ajar, opening it wider so that fresh air might   
displace the noxious stench. 

  


  


Lothiriel had stood up shakily, she was partially doubled over   
from the coughing as she attempted to expel the terrible smoke from her lungs   
and her nostrils. The smell was truly foul and she realized she would have to   
scrub intensely to remove it. Unfortunately, as she glanced fearfully over her   
shoulder to her father, she knew that smelling terribly was the least of her   
worries. Once he had opened the windows, he had turned to her and the expression   
on his face was not forgiving. She had not seen him so angry in a long time and   
braced herself in anticipation of the worst.

  


  


"Father, I can explain…..," she made a desperate attempt to   
account for herself.

  


  


"Enough!" Imrahil snapped, cutting her off before she could   
speak further. "I do not wish to hear your excuses!"

  


  


"Father, please," she pleaded, seeing the storm in his eyes and   
knew with certainty that he was surging down the road she prayed he would not   
take. "I was trying to help. I thought if I could show you what I was capable   
of, you would send me to Isengard!"

  


  


Imrahil drew a deep breath as if attempting to soothe his own   
rage from forcing him to act or say anything rashly, "what you were capable of?   
What were you attempting to do other than to bring about a snow storm within   
your room and make our home reek like a stable after a year without cleaning!"   


  


  


"I was trying to change the weather," Lothriel stammered,   
trying to hide the tears that would only infuriate him if he saw them. He would   
think she was trying to use them to soften his heart. "I thought if I could   
change the weather make it winter to spring, then you would see that my magic   
could be put to good use."

  


  


"No more!" He shouted, refusing to listen to her explanations   
because he had heard them all before and his patience was no longer infinite As   
a father, he had been indulgent for allowing her to go on as long as she did   
without recrimination but this could not continue. It was only a matter of time   
before her efforts to conjure resulted in some mischief that could cause   
injuries to others or to herself. 

  


  


"I have allowed you to indulge yourself for far too long   
against the advice of all our kinsmen and my councilors! You are no longer a   
child with a peculiar habit, you are a lady of Dol Amroth and it is time you   
behaved accordingly. I am sorry my dear but you leave me no other alternative,   
it is time for you to be married, for you to begin your life instead of   
languishing inside this room with your books of magic, magic I might add, I do   
not think you capable of mastering. You will hurt only yourself and those around   
you by your failures and I will not sit by and let it continue."

  


  


"Father please!" Lothiriel pleaded. "Do not send me away to be   
married! I want to go to Isengard, to be a real wizard."

  


  


"Real wizards have power," Imrahil replied wearily, his eyes   
full of sadness at the sorrow in hers. It was very easy for him to bend to her   
will when he loved her so much but for her sake, he had to cruel to do the best   
for her. "You have glimmers of it, most likely a residue of our elven past but   
you are not a wizard and you never will be. I am sorry my daughter, you will not   
go to Isengard. I will find you a suitor and you will be married. It is time you   
left this room and see what lies beyond its walls and beyond those books."

  


  


"No!" Lothiriel cried out, unable to stop the tears from coming   
now that the full burden of her fate was pressed against her. "Please father, do   
not do this. I promise I will not touch another spell book again, I swear that I   
will be a good daughter. Just do not pawn me off to some noblemen whose only   
desire for me will be to solidify some alliance. Let my life have more meaning   
then being the dainty you throw at some lord’s feet."

  


  


"I will find someone worthy of you," Imrahil said softly,   
forcing himself to remain strong but showing her enough of his heart to know   
that he would never give her to any man who did not deserve her, "I   
promise."

  


  


"Your promises mean nothing!" She wept as she ran past him.   
"You mean to give me away like one would give away a prized animal. Do not make   
it sound any more than what it truly is!" 

  


  


Imrahil could not answer her accusation because she left the   
room before he could think of an answer. Despite himself, he was shaken by their   
ugly exchange even more than her failed spell. However, he did not reveal to her   
that he already had someone in mind to be her husband nor was he lying when he   
claimed he would find a suitor worthy of her. He _did_ know someone who was   
a good and noble and worthy enough for his beloved daughter.

  


  


Unfortunately, Eomer was going to be as difficult to convince   
as Lothiriel.

  


  


************

  


  


Not since the announcement of Eldarion’s birth had Minas Tirith   
prepared for the celebration of any event with so much pomp and splendor. The   
signing of the treaty with their former enemies, the Easterlings and the Variags   
was a great milestone in the reign of King Elessar for it was a long time since   
Gondor and for that Middle earth, known such unprecedented peace. With the power   
of Sauron and Mordor broken forever, the Corsairs defeat at Pelagir and the   
destruction of the Wainriders at the Dead Marshes, the alliance with the   
Easterlings seemed to be the final act in the bloody wars that had been plagued   
Gondorians for so long. The mood of peace was infectious, almost as infectious   
as the hope it brought and while people praised the initiative, they praised   
their king even more for making it possible.

  


  


To celebrate the peace accord, leaders across many kingdoms   
across Middle earth made their way into the White City. Legolas, Lord of Eden   
Ardhon, the elven enclave in South Ithilien arrived with his wife, the Lady   
Melia and at his side as always, was Gimli the dwarf who was also the Lord of   
Aglarond, better known as the Glittering Caves. A small procession of elves   
journeyed with them and though it was not meant to be a spectacle as they rode   
through the streets towards the palace, Gondorians nevertheless turned out to   
watch. These days, even a glimpse of a passing elf was a rare thing and many   
knew the time was drawing when the First Born would be gone from Middle earth   
altogether.

  


  


Not long after the procession from Eden Ardhon had disappeared   
from view; the inhabitants of the White City were soon standing again in the   
streets. This time, it was the passing of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth that had   
drawn their interest or more precisely, the presence of his daughter, the lady   
Lothiriel. She was reputed to be a great beauty by those few who had seen her in   
the flesh. The lady did not choose to leave Dol Amroth frequently and her   
presence inspired the curiosity of all those who thought well of the Prince,   
since he was much favored by Gondor and its king since the Battle of Pelennor.   
To this end, they were not disappointed as she rode past with her father, for   
she was almost as fair as the Evenstar, though Lothiriel could not supplant   
Gondor’s beloved queen in the hearts of her people. 

  


  


Very soon, the word had traveled throughout Minas Tirith that   
Lothiriel’s reputation was indeed deserved though they wondered why someone so   
lovely would appear so terribly sad.

  


  
The procession of distinguished guests continued throughout   
the week, with Prince Faramir and his wife, Lady Eowyn entering the White City   
during this time. Faramir who would always hold a fond place in the hearts of   
all Gondorians, for they remembered when he had led the forces of Denethor to   
battle the enemy during the siege of Gondor. His perseverance had kept the hopes   
of many from descending into despair during the dark hours of their battle to   
protect the White City and he had prepared the way for the final victory that   
was achieved with the arrival of the king. 

  


  


His wife, the Lady Eowyn was almost as revered for she had   
defeated the Witch King on the fields of Pelennor. To many of a girl child   
across Gondor and Rohan, the tales of her bravery inspired them to dream of   
being more than they were. As Eowyn had proved she could be when she took up the   
sword and slew the beast that killed the good King Theoden.

  


  


The last of Gondor’s neighbors to make his entry into the White   
City was Eomer, King of the Mark and brother of Eowyn. The leader of the   
Rohirrim entered the city amidst a small contingent of riders, appearing very   
much the king of the horsemen army. Though Gondorians were used to seeing horses   
being ridden by their nobles and barebacked by elves, many did not feel   
comfortable around the animals. Horses were for royalty and those who served   
them, not for ordinary folk. Still as Eomer and the Rohirrim rode through the   
city, they looked very impressive indeed on top the saddle of their mounts.

  


  


With the arrival of the Eomer, Minas Tirith was allowed an   
interlude to catch its breath before the next procession of visitors arrived and   
these would be the ones the inhabitants of the city would view with a good deal   
of caution despite the occasion. Many still feared the Easterling delegation   
that would be entering their city in order to sign the treaty with Gondor. This   
feeling of caution could never truly be brushed aside, not after the siege they   
had endured when the White City was almost lost. 

  


  


The night when all his friend were assembled again within the   
great hall of his palace, was the first time in too long that Aragorn Elessar’s   
thoughts had not been filled with thoughts of treaties and alliances. It was a   
respite he was grateful to have as familiar faces he considered family, gathered   
before him again. 

  


  


Of Legolas and Gimli, he had seen little since the dwarf spent   
much time in Legolas’ realm, claiming that the elves had not concept of building   
anything without a dwarf to offer guidance and Legolas was just busy building   
his colony in Ithilien. Faramir was also tending to matters at home for Ithilien   
now that it was fortified against the threat of its eastern neighbors, had   
suddenly drew the migration of folk from parts of Gondor that had been ravaged   
during the War of the Ring. He had not seen Eomer for many months, since their   
encounter with the dark elf Eol who had almost brought about the destruction of   
Edoras and Imladris. 

  


  


He had hoped to see his kinsmen by marriage, Elladan and   
Elrohir but the journey from Imladris was long and the treaty with the   
Easterlings had little to do with their realm. In truth, he believed the twins   
were still a little uncertain of leaving Elrond’s city after what had transpired   
at the hands of Eol. Thranduil as always was unconcerned by the Easterlings   
after forming his own alliances with the northmen of Mirkwood and Celeborn of   
East Lorien. With the exception of Legolas, Aragorn sensed that the elves   
preferred to distance themselves from the affairs of men mostly because they   
knew that their time in Middle earth was past and someday, perhaps not within   
his lifetime, they would cross the sea for the Undying Lands and never   
return.

  


  


"My goodness, he has grown!" Eowyn exclaimed as she saw   
Eldarion in Arwen’s arm. The babe was almost six months old and was clearly   
showing features from both his parents. In his face, Eowyn saw much of Aragorn   
but his eyes were clearly an inheritance from his mother. 

  


  


With all of the gathering yet to arrive for the evening, those   
present delayed their seating at the table in order to catch up with one another   
after the months of separation. 

  


  


"He certainly has," Arwen beamed proudly as she held her son   
like the greatest triumph in her life. "He has started to make sounds, I am   
certain he is on the verge of his first word."

  


  


"He might be a little young for that," Eowyn remarked, certain   
that the infant had a little time to grow yet before he could become articulate   
enough to form spoken word.

  


  


"Nonsense," Arwen dismissed the notion and continued to regard   
her son with delight, "you are not like every other child are you my son? You   
will speak soon."

  


  


"I would not argue with her," Aragorn offered Eowyn a friendly   
warning with a glint of amusement in his eye, "I have been trying to tell her   
that for weeks."

  


  


"You have no faith in our son. It will serve you right if his   
first word is _mother_ ,"" Arwen huffed reproachfully as she strolled over   
to Ioreth and handed Eldarion to the lady so that he could be put to bed for the   
evening. Eldarion should have been there already but Arwen could not resist the   
temptation of showing him off to their friends. 

  


  


"If you value your skin, you will not debate this further   
Aragorn," Eowyn chuckled, knowing how tenacious young mothers could be and that   
was discounting Arwen’s usual stubbornness. 

  


  


"I think you are right," Aragorn grinned, knowing when to yield   
the field of battle when the odds were against him.

  


  


"You both look well," Eowyn commented. "I am glad to see that   
Arwen has recovered after that terrible business with Eol."

  


  


"She is far stronger than most believe," Aragorn remarked   
quietly, his voice hardening a little at the memory of Eol and how he had been   
forced to kill the dark elf to regain the freedom of his lady and of Imladris.   
"It was us men who suffered most I think during that unpleasantness."

  


  


"I do not dispute that," Faramir agreed after returning from   
the table where he had poured himself and his wife a cup of wine and rejoined   
the conversation. "Upon returning to Ithilien, it was straight to bed for me to   
recover from our labours."

  


  


"Well being struck by arrows can do that," Aragorn nodded in   
agreement. "I know I certainly needed a few days in bed after returning   
home."

  


  


"Yes and sometimes in bed, I even slept," Faramir added   
grinning at his wife wolfishly. 

  


  


"You are a scoundrel," she retorted with a bemused smile.

  


  


"I do not need to know your predilections in the bedchamber,   
Lord and Lady of Ithilien," Aragorn teased.

  


  


"What is this?" Legolas’ voice entered the mix. "You were   
discussing Faramir and Eowyn’s predilections in the bedchamber?" 

  


  


"Then we arrived just in time," Gimli chortled gleefully. 

  


  


"See what you have done?" Eowyn gave her husband a look of mock   
annoyance. "Damned elvish hearing."

  


  


The lord of Eden Ardhon entered the hall with his wife Melia at   
one side and Gimli at the other. For a few minutes, they were all engaged in   
happy greetings and embraces at seeing each other again. Aragorn did not realize   
how much he missed them all until this moment and wished circumstances allowed   
them to see each other more often. However, they were each beings of destiny,   
whose stars not always written together though events sometimes transpired that   
saw their purpose coincide. 

  


  


"How have you been Legolas?" Aragorn said to his oldest friend.   


  


  


"I have been well," the elf smiled with genuine warmth that   
seemed very out of place on Legolas’ usually aloof features. It had taken many   
years of friendship for Aragorn to see beneath that veneer of elven indifference   
to know that Legolas felt things deeply. "The building at Eden Ardhon is almost   
complete. Thanks to our friend," he patted Gimli on the shoulder, "we have   
created something truly unique in the woods of South Ithilien."

  


  


"Arwen, you and Aragorn must come and see it Aragorn," Melia   
smiled happily at her husband’s side. "You only saw tents and half constructed   
buildings when you were last there."

  


  


"Oh can we Estel?" Arwen asked, her eyes glistening with   
delight at the prospect. Most of her time was spent within the walls of the   
palace since the birth of Eldarion that it was nice to travel beyond the borders   
of Minas Tirith whenever the opportunity arose. 

  


  


"I do not see why not," Aragorn smiled, not able to refuse   
beloved Undomiel anything. "Once these proceedings are done with the   
Easterlings, I think a little respite would be nice."

  


  


"It will be an interesting number of days," Faramir remarked.   
"Other than Melia, I do not think I have ever encountered an Easterling long   
enough to know them with any depth."

  


  


"That is true," Gimli agreed. "It is far different from   
fighting them in battle, that is for certain."

  


  


"I should like you close at hand Melia," Aragorn said to the   
Lady of Eden Ardhon. "You know your people’s customs and habits far better than   
I. It would be of great benefit to have your knowledge at the negotiation   
table."

  


  


Melia was rather taken back by the faith the king had placed in   
her by request and despite the encouraging gleam in Legolas’ eyes, she still   
stumbled with her response. 

  


  


"I will aid you in what manner I can," she replied after a   
brief instant of contemplation, "however, I do warn you, it has been many years   
since I left my homeland, things may have changed a great deal."

  


  


"Only the small things in any culture changes over time,"   
Aragorn replied, believing that she was underestimating her value to him. "The   
rest remains the same no matter what."

  


  


"I think you will be able to contribute much," Arwen declared,   
offering Melia a smile of confidence and friendship.

  


  


"Who is the their leader?" Melia asked, uncomfortable by the   
attention on her even though she was very flattered by the trust the king had   
placed in her ability to help him. 

  


  


"Ulfrain," Aragorn answered. "He claims to be a descendant of   
Ulfang the Black. He is coming with his general and his queen."

  


  


"With his queen?" Melia exclaimed with genuine astonishment.   
"He is bringing her to Minas Tirith?"

  


  


"Is this so surprising?" Legolas asked, noting her expression   
of amazement.

  


  


"Well, it is certainly very unusual," she confessed. "It is not   
the habit of Easterling women to leave their homes."

  


  


"Not even a queen who accompanies her husband on an occasion of   
importance such as this?" Eowyn asked, having recalled Melia relating to her and   
Arwen something of the barbaric nature of the Easterling customs regarding their   
women. Personally, Eowyn could not possibly imagine being cloistered away behind   
walls, away from the eyes of men for the entirety of her life. It had been bad   
enough to endure the place women occupied in the scheme of things in Rohan, let   
alone endure something even more backward than that.

  


  


"No," Melia shook her head. "It was not done, at least when I   
lived among them."

  


  


"Much has changed for the Easterlings since Sauron’s defeat,"   
Arwen pointed out to her husband. "They had been forced to adapt many new ways   
in order to survive. Perhaps this is one of them.’

  


  


"That is true," Aragorn could not fault Arwen for her   
observation. "Though we welcome them as allies and treat them as such, there is   
not doubt they come to Minas Tirith as supplicants. Their people are starving   
and they need grain and large quantities of it quickly. It was pride that kept   
them from opening a dialogue of negotiation before this."

  


  


"Is this why you have assembled us all here?" Gimli asked. "In   
order to salve their pride?’

  


  


"If we all stand before the enemy and receive them with open   
arms, they are more inclined to believe that we are willing to put the past   
behind us, Master Dwarf," Faramir pointed out. 

  


  


"They are a proud people," Legolas said agreeing with the lord   
of Ithilien’s assertion and the general strategy that was being employed to   
receive their new allies. "We have defeated them. There is no need to break   
their spirit. Your decision is wise Aragorn, to have us assembled here to show   
them that they are not merely being accepted by Gondor but by the rest of Middle   
earth."

  


  


"I hope they appreciate it," Aragorn replied, "I do not wish to   
go to war with them."

  


  


"Do you think they are in a position to do that?" Arwen asked,   
fearful of another war taking Estel away from her. For so many years, they had   
been kept apart by Sauron and all the darkness that had been extinguished in the   
culmination of the War of the Ring, Arwen had no wish to see another resurgence   
of violence that would imperil not merely her husband but all their lands. 

  


  


"Not for a sustained conflict," Aragorn explained. "However,   
they are a warrior race and with the situation that they now face at home, this   
is a terrible blow to their pride. It is necessary for this alliance to be   
sealed before other factions in Ulfrain’s kingdom consider a military solution   
to their problem."

  


  


"Eomer!" Eowyn’s voice suddenly shattered the sombre discussion   
with its exuberance. 

  


  


As they turned to regard Eomer’s arrival, they saw Eowyn had   
already run into his arms and was exchanging a warm embrace with her brother,   
the King of the Mark and the leader of the Rohirrim. Though they did not see   
each other as often as they would like since her marriage to Faramir, Eowyn and   
Eomer remained close as always and each meeting was always treated like the   
precious moment that it was.

  


  


"Sister," Eomer grinned as he regarded Eowyn, "how does fares   
the Shield Maiden of Rohan?" he teased. 

  


  


"No better than the King of the Mark," she returned with a   
bright smile. In appearance, they were not much different and anyone seeing them   
together could tell immediately that they were brother and sister. While Eomer’s   
hair was darker and he seemed older because of his beard, he was only a young   
man and Eowyn could not help but treat him like the small boy who had shared   
much of her childhood.

  


  


"You have not made me an uncle yet?" He arched his brow at her   
in mischief.

  


  


"And you have not made me a sister in law," she returned just   
as sharply.

  


  


"I think that will be changing soon enough," Aragorn added his   
voice into the mix as he came to greet Eomer midway. Similar greetings were soon   
exchanged between the company of friends and it was as though they had never   
been apart. 

  


  
"Where is Prince Imrahil?" Aragorn asked out loud as they   
settled into their seats, waiting for the last member of their party to arrive   
before the first course of the meal could be served.

  


  


"I have sent the servants to seek him out," Arwen informed   
dutifully. 

  


  


"He is travelling with his daughter is he not?" Faramir asked.   
"I heard some talk on the way here that the girl is quite a beauty."

  


  


"Is this the daughter that he is attempting to marry off?"   
Legolas asked, giving Eomer a clear look of intent as he spoke.

  


  


"Yes," Aragorn grinned, noticing Eomer slink deeper into his   
chair as the subject reared its head. "I believe so."

  


  


"I think it is terrible," Arwen stiffened unhappily, "this   
business of arranged marriages." 

  


  


"It is how it is done Arwen," Eowyn replied. "For noblemen,   
daughters are only good for alliances, little else."

  


  


"Has she no choice in the matter?" Arwen asked, staring at   
Aragorn a little too intently for his comfort.

  


  


"It is not a matter of choice," Aragorn volunteered   
reluctantly, "it is a matter of duty."

  


  


"You must remember Arwen," Eowyn explained as best she could,   
though she did not like how things were herself, "that we do not have long lives   
as elves do. We have one chance to do it right and on most occasions, very   
little time to make our selection. If true love is found, that is all well and   
good but the noble born of men do not have that choice, especially daughters. I   
cannot tell you how much I feared Theoden marrying me off to that slime   
Wormtongue during his enchantment by that creature."

  


  


"I would have killed him first," Eomer declared and no one at   
the table believed he was jesting.

  


  


Eowyn offered her brother a warm smile as his efforts on her   
behalf and continued speaking, "fortunately, I was able to make my own choice on   
a suitable mate for me."

  


  


"My wife, the romantic," Faramir retorted at her description of   
him being her ‘suitable mate’. 

  


  


"Well the dwarf way is the best," Gimli replied with smug   
authority. "The lady chooses us and it is far simpler than attempting to   
understand the workings of the female mind by enduring the whole courting   
process. She chooses you and that is all there is to it. No fussing about with   
flowers or tokens of love, any mundane efforts at expressing sentimentality,   
just a simple direct way of getting through all the rubbish to the heart of the   
matter. Let her decide and save yourself the grief of trying to understand her.   
I have found the only thing more unfathomable then elves is the feminine   
mind."

  


  
"Melia, you are closer," Arwen spoke up. "Please hurl   
something at him."

  


  


Melia tossed a napkin at the dwarf and giving her queen   
satisfaction as well as a good reason for laughter around the table when the   
silken material hit the Gimli on the side of his head. 

  


  


"Control your wife!" Gimli snorted in Legolas’ direction.

  


  


"She was under orders from the queen," the elf grinned before   
adding his own comment to the subject at hand. "I suppose it is difficult for us   
elves to understand this custom because immortality ensures that we are with our   
mates for a long time so it is necessary for us to make our choices sensibly.   
Eternity can be a terribly long time if you give yourself to someone you cannot   
stand."

  


  


"You know this conversation is somewhat redundant," Eomer spoke   
up glaring at the faces before him, "since I do not plan on wedding   
_anyone_."

  


  


"But you have not even met her," Eowyn pointed out. "You might   
like the girl."

  


  


Eomer released a groan of exasperation when suddenly; the   
chamberlain entered the hall and announced the eminent arrival of Prince Imrahil   
of Dol Amroth and his daughter, Lothiriel. Although Imrahil was not as close to   
the king as the rest of the company, Aragorn thought deeply of the man who had   
aided his victory at Pelennor. Imrahil had no reason to trust him when Aragorn   
arrived in Minas Tirith during the war of the Ring but a genuine love of Gondor   
had shunted aside his suspicions and allowed him to do what was right. The   
result had been their valiant defense against the forces of darkness and the   
forging of a life long respect between the two men.

  


  


As a show of respect and regard, all save Aragorn and Arwen   
rose to their feet when Imrahil and his daughter entered the room. Curiosity   
filled most of them regarding the girl since the rumors began that Imrahil   
wished to marry her to Eomer. She glided into the room at her father’s side,   
clad in a dress of deep scarlet, with her head held low and her eyes even lower.   
She did not make eye contact with anyone, especially with the one her father had   
intended for her. 

  


  


"Imrahil," Aragorn greeted warmly as the prince and his   
daughter stood before the company. "It is good to see you again."

  


  


"And you Sire," Imrahil answered with similar feeling. He was   
too much of a traditionalist to abandon the formality of addressing his king, no   
matter how much he considered Aragorn his friend. "May I present to you my   
daughter, Lothliriel?"

  


  


"Please," Aragorn gestured he continued as the girl’s eyes   
raised at the mention of her name.

  


  


As Imrahil made the customary introductions, Arwen noted with   
amusement, the reaction of the males in the room with her. They were all struck   
by the loveliness of the young woman as a hint of lust and desire gleamed in all   
their awed gazes. Arwen felt no jealousy. She had lived long enough to know the   
folly of that emotion as well as to recognize that their interest was passing.   
And Lothiriel _was_ very beautiful. She was easily the fairest maiden Arwen   
had ever seen among the race of men, no disrespect to either Eowyn or Melia. Yet   
Lothiriel’s beauty seemed fragile and as she looked up cautiously to meet the   
eyes of those assembled before her, Arwen saw that the barely concealed anxiety   
on her face.

  


  


The poor child was terrified.

  


  


Suddenly the discussion they were just having about daughters   
being used as pawns in the game of alliances returned to her sharply. Did this   
girl know that she was brought to Minas Tirith to be wedded? Had she even   
consented? Arwen glanced at Eomer across the table and saw that he was similarly   
enamoured by Lothiriel’s beauty but Eomer was not blinded by it. Eowyn had told   
her of the deep sibling bond between herself and her brother in their youth and   
how it was Eomer who protected Eowyn from Grima Wormtongue when the counselor   
had real designs upon his sister. Arwen could not imagine that a brother who   
would protect his sister so valiantly against the desires of an unwanted suitor   
would become one himself by taking this girl’s hand in marriage.

  


  


"So Lothiriel," Arwen spoke to the girl kindly after they were   
seated and the first course of the meal was being served. "Is this your first   
visit to Minas Tirith?"

  


  


Lothiriel swallowed thickly, not expecting the queen or anyone   
else to speak to her during this gathering of friends and family, of which she   
as neither. "Yes," she nodded after a moment of hesitation. "It is my first time   
away from Dol Amroth."

  


  


"You could not have come at a better time," Aragorn joined in,   
understanding his wife’s intentions because he could tell that Lothiriel was   
little overwhelmed by the company. "With the treaty days from the signing,   
everyone is doing their best to celebrate the peace once it arrives. Imrahil, I   
assume you will be staying until the celebration is done. We wish to ensure our   
neighbors feel very welcome."

  


  


"I still question the wisdom of extending the Easterlings this   
hand of friendship," Imrahil admitted, aware that Aragorn was a king that liked   
honesty from his subjects, not blind obedience and valued his opinion, even if   
it was in opposition to his own. "I suppose my judgement is tainted by the   
battles we have fought against them, even before War of the Ring. However, I   
will curb my tongue and trust your judgement in this."

  


  


"Thank you," Aragorn said gratefully. "In my heart, I believe   
that this is the right thing to do. The race of men must stand united or we will   
falter. We were never meant to be as scattered or divided as we have become. Our   
world is changing before our eyes and we must change with it. The Easterlings   
have only Sauron and Morgoth before him to guide them in the past. They need to   
know that there is another way to prosper other than by conquest and   
destruction. Someone must be willing to show them for that to change."

  


  


"He makes a strong argument does he not?" Faramir gazed at   
Imrahil with a little smile, having heard this speech before and was still   
capable of being moved by the sincerity and hope in Aragorn’s words.

  


  


"Yes he does," Imrahil agreed and found himself bending to the   
will of the king once again. 

  


  


Leaving her father to talk politics with the king, Lothiriel’s   
attention shifted across the table to find the face belonging to the one her   
father had intended her to marry. She had been a little surprised to discover   
that the King of the Mark was not some leathery faced, old war master that would   
treat a wife no better than he would treat a horse but instead a young man. He   
appeared perhaps a little older than her in years but not in appearance or   
spirit. She tried not to stare but curiosity forced her to look. Eomer was like   
his sister, with high cheekbones, a hint of bronze to his skin from being too   
much in the sun and piercing blue eyes that could draw blood if he intended to   
glare.

  


  


Upon their introduction, he had given her a cursory nod and   
little else, indicating that his interest in her was minimal as he turned away   
to continue his conversation with the dwarf as if she was not even there. His   
indifference should have pleased her but instead Lothiriel felt somewhat   
slighted that she was not worthy of even a word of greeting. Certainly her   
father had not thought anything about the whole thing but then her father was a   
man and even she was wise enough to know that they could so obtuse about things.   
Obviously, she was not to his liking and supposed she ought to feel relieved   
that the King of Rohan found her unacceptable because it would mean Imrahil   
would have to find another suitor. 

  


  


In the scheme of things, it mattered little because she was not   
remaining in Minas Tirith at the mercy of her father to be handed to any man who   
cared to make the offer, especially the King of the Mark.

  


  


No matter how handsome he was.

  


  


*********

  


  


  
The evening progressed along inevitably, with the courses   
of the meal eaten and the draughts being served in generous quantities. As the   
men descended into talk of politics, the quality of draughts and stories of   
their past with a little more color and exaggeration in the telling,   
corresponding to the level of spirits ingested. Eowyn noted her brother being a   
little more restrained in this endeavor and noticed how he stole glances at   
Lothiriel when he thought no one was paying attention. 

  


  


The young lady herself had kept to herself, wearing a nervous   
expression on her face that told everyone she was very unsure of herself. She   
evoked a feeling of sympathy from anyone that saw anxiety on that face so filled   
with childlike innocence and beauty. Eowyn noticed Arwen and Melia making some   
effort to draw the girl out of her shell a little while Eowyn was somewhat   
concerned about her brother’s feelings on the matter. 

  


  


In such marriages, it was always the bride that drew everyone’s   
concern. The groom often painted as an unfeeling monster that would force   
himself upon a maiden who did not want him. However, for Eomer to refuse   
Imrahil’s daughter would be an insult that would not only damage their   
friendship but could harm relations between Rohan and Dol Amroth. Eowyn knew   
that Imrahil meant a great deal to Eomer. They had fought together at Pelennor   
and at the Black Gates. Her brother had no wished to slight the man but neither   
was Eomer likely to enter a marriage with a woman he did not at least feel some   
emotion towards. Eowyn did not blame him for she wished her brother the same   
happiness that she herself felt with Faramir.

  


  


 

  


"You should at least talk to her if you are going to sneak   
glances at her all night," Eowyn remarked as she took the seat next to her   
brother. Eomer had remained where he was, making no effort to join the others as   
he considered his predicament. 

  


  


"I was not," he said hotly, giving his sister a frown of   
displeasure, mostly because she knew what he was about possibly far better then   
he himself did.

  


  


"She is very beautiful," Eowyn commented, catching a glimpse of   
Lothiriel whose anxious expression indicated that she wished to be anywhere else   
but where she was.

  


  


"Yes," Eomer nodded imperceptibly, unable to deny that much,   
"very beautiful."

  


  


"She looks very afraid," Eowyn pointed out. "Poor child   
probably believes she has no choice in this."

  


  


"I am not marrying her if she does not wish it," Eomer stated   
firmly. "I will not marry _anyone_ against their will."

  


  


"Eomer," she looked at him. "We were children of a royal house,   
we know how things are done. How things have _always_ been done. I could   
have just as easily been wedded to Boromir as I could have been to his brother.   
If circumstances had not altered as they had and if Theoden and Denethor had   
their way, it might happened that way. As much as we desire to marry for love,   
most of the time we marry for political advantage. Before you reject this girl   
outright, you must consider your position as King of the Mark."

  


  


"She is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen," Eomer   
confessed and surprised himself by meaning it, "not even the Evenstar can   
compare but you do not love something so precious by stealing it or holding it   
to you against its will. She is fair and I do not deny that I am not drawn a   
little but I do not know her and beauty fades in time. I want more than just a   
political alliance." he faltered as he struggled to find the words. She was   
possibly the only person with whom he could confide his inner most thoughts.   


  


  


"I am more than just King of the Mark, just as you were more   
than Sister Daughter of Theoden, we were first Eomer and Eowyn and when you   
chose Faramir, you did so as Eowyn. Why cannot I have the same privilege?" He   
asked, knowing the answer before she even spoke but feeling compelled to ask the   
question nonetheless.

  


  


"Because you are king and I cannot advise you on how to choose   
your wife but I sense you like this girl but fear caring for her because she was   
delivered to you in this manner," Eowyn guessed far more accurately than Eomer   
thought her capable.

  


  


"She was so afraid," Eomer whispered softly, "did you not see   
it?"

  


  


"I saw," Eowyn nodded, "I think we all saw."

  


  


"How am I suppose to allay her fears when her being here is not   
even her decision?" Eomer asked his sister. His entire life had been one trial   
after another, involving constant against the enemies of Rohan with little   
opportunity for a private life. The women he knew were mostly tavern maids and   
serving girls who were willing to share his bed for a night of comfort during is   
travels. He had very little experience with dealing with the fairer sex other   
than his relationship with his sister and since Eowyn was never very   
conventional, she offered poor basis for comparison.

  


  


"You must talk to her," Eowyn replied, finding it very   
comforting that some things remained the same no matter how much time had   
passed. Her brother was still the same uncertain boy she knew, beneath the   
veneer of the self-assured King of the Mark and the fearsome warrior he had   
become since the days of their childhood. "If this thing between you is meant to   
be, you will both know it. If it is not, then you can in good conscience refuse   
Imrahil’s wish to see you wed. You can walk away knowing that you made some   
effort to give his suggestion the benefit of the doubt."

  


  


It was sound advice and Eomer was glad that Eowyn was the one   
to provide it. Since their youth, she had always provided him with good council,   
even when that advice saw them both treading dangerous ground. He saw no reason   
to doubt her now.

  


  


"I will do as you suggest sister," Eomer said decisively. "Not   
here or tonight but when the opportunity arises, I will speak to Lothiriel   
myself."

  


  


"Good," she smiled, glad that she had helped to ease her   
brother’s concern somewhat. Eowyn had a feeling that despite his repugnance to a   
forced marriage with the lovely Lothiriel, there might be more to his feelings   
than what he dared to admit. She only hoped that Lothiriel felt the same   
way.

  


  


***********

  


  


If anyone was able to know the contents of Lothiriel’s mind,   
they would have been surprised to learn that her primary concern was not the   
fact that she was terrified of being in such vaunted company, but how she would   
make good her escape from Minas Tirith. The more she tried to convince her   
father that she would never marry anyone she did not love, the more determined   
he became that she would do just that. Even though meeting the King of the Mark   
had sparked her interest more than she liked, Lothiriel was steadfastly clinging   
to her desire to remain unwed for the time being. She wished to be trained as an   
acolyte wizard at Isengard and was devoting her energies to seeing that dream   
become a reality.

  


  


She had hoped when arriving at Minas Tirith that she would have   
opportunity to meet the Istar Pallando that had recently emerged from obscurity   
in recent months. However, Lothiriel had seen no sign of him and could not ask   
her father for fear of giving away her plans. As it was, she was certain that   
her senses had taken leave of her for even considering such at thing but her   
father had given her little choice but to act. Once the Easterlings had arrived   
in the city and everyone was too busy concerning themselves with the business of   
the signing of the treaty, she would be free to act.

  


  


"Do you ride Lothiriel?" Arwen asked. Throughout the evening,   
Arwen had engaged the girl in conversation in an effort to befriend the child   
and learn her thoughts first hand on how she viewed this betrothal her father   
wished between her and Eomer.

  


  


"A little," Lothiriel confessed. "I have not traveled enough to   
be very adept."

  


  


"Well there are lovely trails to ride here," the queen   
suggested. "Perhaps you might join me when I ride."

  


  


"Join you?" Lothiriel said somewhat shocked by the offer. "I   
would be honoured."

  


  


"It is nothing to feel so honored about," Arwen replied warmly,   
"just a ride and I would enjoy the company. Besides, I think that perhaps we   
overwhelm you a little here."

  


  


Lothiriel let out a sigh and nodded, "I am a little shaken by   
all this. It has happened very suddenly."

  


  


"Do you wish to be married?" Melia asked bluntly, finding this   
girl’s situation too much like her own. Melia had been forced to flee the   
Sunlands for fear of being forced into a marriage that was not her choosing by   
her family. Too much about Lothiriel’s situation bore similarities to her own   
experiences and she found her heart going out to this girl.

  


  


"I am a creature of duty," Lothiriel answered after great   
hesitation but the question was one no one had asked her so far and so she felt   
compelled to give some response. "My father desires me to find a husband, I have   
no choice in the matter."

  


  


"That is not the question I asked, "Melia retorted.

  


  


"Melia," Arwen interjected, disliking the tone the discussion   
was taking. "I do not think that it is fair to ask her this."

  


  


"It is all right," Lothiriel stayed the queen’s concern. "My   
father wishes it and so _I_ wish it."

  


  


However, even as she said the words, Melia knew she was lying.   
She had the same gleam in her eye that Melia remembered from her own betrothal.   
The same façade of acceptance to quell the fears of those who might suspect her   
of acting otherwise. Melia had been similarly disposed to projecting such an   
illusion prior to her escape northwards. She had lulled the suspicions of those   
around her into a quiet sleep and used their complacency to make good her   
escape. As much as she knew it would be scandalous for all concerned, Melia   
could not find it in her heart to give Lothiriel away.

  


  


"You are a good daughter," Melia replied finally. "If you have   
need of _anything_ , I hope you will come to me while I am here in the White   
City."

  


  


Arwen stared hard at Melia for a moment, attempting to   
ascertain what the Easterling was attempting to do. Her senses warned her that   
something was transpiring beneath the skin of all this civility but she could   
not guess what that could be.

  


  


Attempting to change the subject and dispel the tension,   
Lothiriel quickly spoke up again, "is it true that there is an Istar other than   
Radagast remaining in Middle earth?"

  


  


"Yes," Arwen shook the disquietening thoughts away and regarded   
the young girl, "he is called Pallando."

  


  


"Is he coming to these proceedings?" Lothiriel asked hopefully,   
wishing to take her case to the Maia herself if necessary. It would spare her   
the trouble of secret flight if she could see Pallando here in Minas Tirith   
instead of Isengard.

  


  


"Unfortunately, no," Arwen answered. "He has no desire to   
embroil himself in the politics of this treaty."

  


  


"Oh," Lothiriel sighed with open disappointment. "I had hoped   
to see him."

  


  


"Do you know Pallando?" Melia stared at her.

  


  
"Oh no," Lothiriel answered quickly, "I am aware only aware   
the Istar by reputation. I have also read all about them and hoped to meet one.   
I wished I could have met the Grey Pilgrim."

  


  


"The Grey Pilgirm?" Melia looked to Arwen. "Is that the one   
called Gandalf?"

  


  


"Yes," Arwen nodded. "You have an interest in wizards?"

  


  
"They have always fascinated me," Lothiriel replied   
cautiously, not wishing the queen to know that it was magic where her interest   
lay, even more than the wizards conjuring such forces. 

  


  


"Pallando is presently at the court of Thranduil," Melia   
responded after a moment, "he often keeps company with Legolas’ father."

  


  


"Legolas," Lothiriel mused, trying to recall which one of the   
guests she had been introduced to, went by that name. "Is he the elf? The pretty   
one?"

  


  


Melia who was taking a sip of her wine almost choked at that   
description while Arwen merely attempted to stifle her sniggers. 

  


  


"Please," Melia composed herself and regarded the young woman,   
"do not let him hear you call him that."

  


  


"Why?" Lothiriel asked with complete innocence.

  


  


"Because the last time someone described him that way, it took   
almost a full month to convince him that he did no need to grow a beard," Melia   
replied with a somewhat glazed expression on her face.

  


  


"A beard?" Arwen exclaimed. Trying to picture Legolas with   
stubble was a mind numbing experience, let alone a beard.

  


  


"A beard." Melia frowned. 


	3. Chapter Two: The Easterlings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of a signing a historic treaty with the Easterlings that will ensure peace, Aragorn and the other leaders of Middle earth find themselves trapped by a spell that bends their will to the purpose of the beautiful Easterling queen. As enemy troops began to move into Minas Tirith, it is up to Arwen, Eowyn and the newly arrived Lothiriel of Dol Amroth to find a way to break the spell before the enemy accomplishes what Sauron could not, the talking of the White City and Middle earth with it. .

What Arwen knew of Far Harad was scant. 

  


There was little reason for the daughter of Elrond to study the   
race of men who gave their allegiances to Morgoth and following the banishment   
of the dark lord to the void, to his lieutenant Sauron. The Eldar had learnt   
long ago that whenever these dark powers chose to bedevil them with some form of   
mischief, orcs or goblins customarily carried out their bidding. Sauron reserved   
the armies of men under his sway for the periodic attacks on Gondor and all the   
descendants of the Westernesse. 

  


For years, Gondor struggled against the Easterling forces that   
were composed of the Haradrim, the Balchoth Variags and the barbarians known the   
Wainriders. Intermittent wars throughout the last thousand years kept the   
Easterlings at bay and ensured that the rest of the western lands did not know   
the constant battle that had become a way of life for Gondor. 

  


It was due to this sacrifice by Gondor and all her sons, that   
the Eldar had little reason to contemplate the Easterlings. To the elves, the   
danger they posed was a human matter since the hearts of men were easily swayed   
and they made allegiances easily. As the power of the First Born began to fade   
from Middle earth, the elves withdrew from their affairs, allowing the race to   
deal with its aberrant offshoots in its own manner. Indeed, until the War of the   
Ring, there was very little reason to even waste time and effort thinking about   
these swarthy skinned invaders since it was likely the elves would ever   
encounter them.

  


However, the War of the Ring had changed Middle earth   
significantly and for the first time, the Easterlings warranted some measure of   
interest from the elves since they had played such a significance role in   
Sauron’s offensive against his enemies. Unfortunately by this time, all   
knowledge of the Easterlings and how they came to be was almost non-existent.   
What was known of them was garnered from soldiers who had engaged them on the   
field battle. These snippets of information did not however, extend beyond the   
constraints of warfare and thus almost nothing was known of the Easterling   
races, their language, their culture or their society.

  


Melia’s arrival into their lives had shed much needed light on   
this mystery. Most who saw her had difficulty trying to place what race she   
belonged to for she resembled neither the dark haired Gondorians nor the fair   
Rohirrim. In Angmar, they guessed that she was from a distant place but could   
not name her origins beyond that simple observation. Only those who were well   
traveled had some inkling of where she had originated. Faramir who had fought   
the Haradrim even before the siege of Gondor and the Battle of Pelennor claimed   
that he and those who had fought at his side, had never seen an Easterling   
woman.

  


However, it was from Melia that they learnt that battle was a   
way of life for the peoples of the Easterlings. Morgoth and Sauron drove it into   
their natures after him. From the moment they had existed as a race, the lessons   
of the dark lords had been soaked into their skins, willingly or not. They knew   
only what they had been taught and what they were taught was to embrace   
destruction and to survive by conquest. Since their entire way of life was   
forced into this singularity, all other aspects of their culture were duly   
ignored. Learning was halted, exploration – non-existent, agriculture was   
considered a weakling’s choice and society was locked in a void of stagnancy.   
They fed themselves because of tributes and when that was not enough, they   
conquered those who could. It was a deadly cycle endorsed by Baradur.

  


But Baradur was no more.

  


The might that they had known was gone and with the Reunified   
Kingdom sitting on their borders, filled with seasoned warriors that had battled   
more then just men, conquest was no longer a certainty. Without Sauron’s power   
behind them, their strength had waned considerably. Unfortunately, for the   
Easterlings, time had run out because they were paying the price for their   
neglected social and economic structure. The price demanded was the unthinkable;   
an alliance with enemies they had battled since the dawn of their existence in   
Middle earth.

  


However, the unthinkable was surmounted because the men of Far   
Harad were marching into Minas Tirith, led by their own king and queen, a guard   
of escorts a hundred strong. They entered the city on chariots that were seen   
only during battle before this day. The Far Harad were cavalrymen by nature and   
as they rode through the streets of the White City, their weapons of spikes and   
scimitars were held close. If not for the effect upon their hosts, they would   
have entered Minas Tirith on their mumakils, instead of horses or on their feet.   


  


The procession made their way through the city, under the deep   
scrutiny of the Gondorian archers poised covertly on high towers flanking the   
route taken or by soldiers, hidden in the crowds, disguised as common folk.   
Despite the overture of peace, Gondor’s war masters were not foolish enough to   
let down their guard when inviting such a formidable enemy past their gates,   
even under the banner of peace. 

  


Before they could near the Citadel, the Easterling soldiers   
were led to barracks built specifically to accommodate them. During the   
arrangement of this historic meeting, the king of Far Harad was most insistent   
that he enter the White City with his personal guard at his side. In an effort   
to show the man that this was a genuine offer of friendship, Aragorn had   
consented but with a few conditions of his own. As it was, none of Gondor’s   
military leaders were entirely thrilled with an armed entourage of a former   
enemy being in the White City, let alone near the Citadel. 

  


Once through the Citadel, the king and his existing entourage   
journeyed past the High Court and the Place of the Fountain to reach the White   
Tower from which the banner of Telecontari flew in its proud colours in the   
breeze. The Easterling delegation was first allowed to refresh themselves after   
their long journey while the household staff went about the business of   
preparing the court of Gondor to receive them. In this, Arwen had taken personal   
charge. As Elrond’s daughter, she had become quite accustomed to this duty,   
having performed the service on numerous occasions for her father when she   
prepared the Lord of Imlardis to receive his many visitors.

  


As customary, the visitors remained in the suite of rooms   
prepared for them. Compliments were sent back and forth between the two kings   
but no official meeting would take place until the delegation was presented at   
court. Banquets and entertainment was prepared and though she was merely   
directing the preparation, Arwen found it terribly exhausting. When it was all   
said and done, she found a certain measure of satisfaction in knowing that her   
labors had come to fruition without incident and that all was in readiness for   
the historic meeting. 

  


By later afternoon, the guests had rested and all was in   
readiness to receive them in a ceremony that was as much for their visitors as   
it was for the people of Middle earth. The lords and ladies of Middle earth were   
now in their appointed places in the great hall, waiting for the chamberlain to   
make the announcement that would begin the ceremony that many of them had   
traveled so far to attend. Since Denethor’s time, the great hall had been shed   
of its somber mood. To aid with the dimness of the room, new windows had been   
carved through the stone walls, illuminating its wide aisles and giving greater   
definition to the carvings on the tall black marble columns that extended toward   
the ceiling. 

  


Aragorn’s throne sat on the dais at the end of the room. It was   
carved from marble with an ornate canopy and the figure of the White Tree set in   
gems behind it. The queen did not possess a throne of her own but a place had   
been made at his side, carved from marble and gilded with gold. However, it was   
set apart from the king’s throne by more than an arm’s length. 

  


As she stared at her husband in his kingly garments with the   
crown of Gondor upon his head, Arwen could not deny how splendidly he wore the   
mantle of king and how handsome he looked in all his adornment. Whether or not   
he had seen her affectionate stare, Aragorn nevertheless turned briefly to his   
wife and offered her a playful wink, reminding her that despite all this   
fanfare, he was still her Estel.

  


  
At the foot of the dais, in a less ostentatious seat carved   
of black marble, the Steward of Gondor also bided his time waiting for the   
guests to arrive. Arwen stifled a smile as she noted how decidedly uncomfortable   
Faramir appeared. The man might have been Denethor’s son, but becoming Steward   
was never a part he had expected to play. Eowyn, who sat in the seats provided   
for the other leaders of Middle earth, was offering her husband a sympathetic   
smile, aware of how much he hated to take part in such ritual.

  


When the chamberlain announced the eminent arrival of the   
Easterling entourage, Arwen and the rest of the occupants in the hall turned   
their attention towards the great arched doorway. The doormen on either side of   
it pulled open the polished wood doors, following a collective breath of   
anticipation from the gathering awaiting the arrival of the guests. For a few   
seconds, nothing transpired and the chamberlain glanced nervously over his   
shoulder when suddenly, instead of the Easterling king and his queen, appeared a   
troop of dancers. They were clad colorfully and performed a lively dance as they   
made their way up the red carpet leading to the throne. 

  


It was the first time any of the assembled guests, save Melia,   
had ever been treated to any aspect of Easterling culture. The women wore veils   
across their faces and the dance they performed was graceful and fluid, almost   
elven in their execution. It was a sensual feast of acrobatics and coordination.   
Exclamations of awe escaped the spectators as they saw the dancers leaping into   
the air, landing with almost feline perfection. The dancers were adorned in   
jewelry but it seemed to be a necessary part of the performance. Their clothes   
were unlike any fashion seen by the Westernesse, with their midriff exposed and   
the skirts of their garment little more than numerous lengths of soft material   
trailing from their hips. 

  


The dancers were midway down the hall when they were followed   
by a small troop of acrobats wielding batons bathed in fire on either end. The   
acrobats were men and in the performance of their display, Arwen noted that all   
their limbs seemed to move in perfect synchronicity. She began to understand the   
technique behind Melia’s style of combat. The Easterlings were smaller in   
stature then the men of the Westernesse, their limbs were slender and compact   
instead of muscular, thus requiring deft strikes instead of powerful ones. The   
acrobats were able to use their legs like they used their hands and as the   
batons flew about the air, creating spirals of color in mid air, they delighted   
the audience to no end. 

  


When the dancers had reached the foot of the throne, they bowed   
graciously to the king and his steward before withdrawing to flanking positions   
on either side of the carpet. The acrobats followed the same pattern, increasing   
the anticipation of everyone present at the appearance of the Easterling lord   
and his lady. Following the entertainers were the Easterling guards dressed in   
their finest and carrying ceremonial weapons as they marched past the audience,   
a prelude to the eminent arrival of their king. 

  


Leading them was a general of Far Harad, an imposing man with   
skin like carved mahogany. His dark eyes surveyed the faces before him,   
committing them all to memory. He wore a band of animal hide across his   
forehead. His black hair was short and crinkled tight against his head. He wore   
a thick cloak of animal hide and carried a spike. At his waist hung the scabbard   
of a scimitar, whose hilt was made of ivory and carved in the head of an eagle.   
He bowed briefly before Aragorn because joining his troops who was standing   
abreast of the carpet, their weapons held against their chest as the chamberlain   
announced, finally, the arrival of their king. 

  


When he finally made his appearance, the Easterling king was   
not what anyone had expected, Arwen included.

  


He was surprisingly young. Arwen estimated that he was perhaps   
a little older than Faramir for it was difficult to make any comparison against   
Aragorn whose mortal span was greater than most because he was the Dunedain.   
When Haradrim king strode into the great hall with his queen following two steps   
behind, he captured the undivided attention of everyone by his striking   
appearance. His coloring and hair was like that his general. However, he did not   
seem to be as aloof and broke into a little smile when he regarded those   
assembled before him. Upon his shoulders, he wore the cloak of an animal native   
to his lands for none present had ever seen a beast with an orange pelt mottled   
with dark spots. The hood of the cloak, which resembled more a headdress was the   
great cat’s cured head, making its wearer appear almost as fearsome. 

  


Still, as imposing as he was too look at, it was his wife that   
captured most of the court’s attention. 

  


Arwen had thought Lothiriel was fair but this woman had a   
different kind of beauty that was far removed from the fragile loveliness that   
Lothiriel possessed. The eyes of every man in the room were fixed upon her the   
moment she entered it. With long black hair that shimmered when she moved, her   
brown eyes of dark amber looked straight ahead, giving little attention to   
anything else in the room. Her garments would be considered improper anywhere   
else in Middle earth for her limbs and her midriff was exposed. The skirt of her   
gown was slit all the way to her hips on either side and she was adorned heavily   
with jewels where there should have been fabric. She looked sultry indeed with   
her made up eyes and her reddened lips. 

  


"King Elfrain of Haradrim, Gondor welcomes you," Aragorn spoke,   
breaking at last the charged silence of the moment.

  


"We are honored by your invitation King Elessar," Elfrain   
responded, his words sang with an unfamiliar accent and Arwen supposed the   
spoken word of the Haradrim instead of their battle cries sounded very different   
indeed. "May I present to you, my wife, Akallabeth."

  


"I welcome you lady," Aragorn regarded her for a moment and   
then added, "Akallabeth - that is a Numorean word." 

  


She did not answer at first, turning instead to her husband for   
permission. Elfrain nodded slightly and only after this leave was given did she   
raise her eyes to meet that of Aragorn’s. 

  


"Yes," she answered, her voice soft and meek. "It means   
downfallen."

  


Aragorn found the whole notion of the woman needing her   
husband’s permission to speak rather demeaning and started to understand why   
Melia had fled from the Sunlands if this was the kind of conduct that was   
demanded of her by the men of that realm. 

  


"I hope that it is not a literal meaning," he responded kindly.   


  


"In the eyes of our people," Elfrain spoke, "all women are   
downfallen."

  


"An interesting position," Aragorn remarked disagreeing   
completely but the Haradrim’s traditions were their own, he had no right to   
offer judgement. "I should like to talk more about this."

  


"Certainly," Elfrain replied graciously.

  


"This is my wife, Arwen Evenstar," Aragorn extended his hand   
outward towards Arwen.

  


Arwen rose to her feet and glided across the dais, her head   
held high and her eyes unafraid of meeting that of the visiting king. Her gaze   
upon him was received with a hint of indifference as if he was merely tolerating   
her audacity for the sake of the peace accord. Arwen wondered what he would say   
if he knew that she was thinking the same in regard to his reprehensible control   
over his wife. 

  


Ulfrain stared at her a moment before turning his attention   
back to Aragorn, "then it is true, your lady is one of the First Born."

  


"Yes," Aragorn nodded, surprised that such intelligence would   
be of any interest to the Easterlings. "Arwen is the daughter of Lord Elrond,   
formerly of Imladris."

  


"I have never met an elf before," Ufrain said with genuine   
curiosity, "I should like your leave to speak to your lady about the First   
Born."

  


"You may speak to me whenever you choose," Arwen spoke up   
before Aragorn could answer. 

  


Aragorn lowered his gaze as he smiled, amused at his wife’s   
strength of will, coming to the conclusion that the next few days were going to   
be very interesting indeed.

  


**********

  


Following the official introduction of the Easterling king and   
his queen, the entire party moved into the banquet hall where a lavish meal had   
been prepared for the all the guests. After Ulfrain had introduced his wife and   
his war master, General Castigliari, Aragorn had presented the rest of his   
court, starting with Faramir, as Steward of Gondor before moving on to the rest   
of the leaders of Middle earth assembled for this gathering. Ulfrain seemed   
genuinely interested in Arwen and Legolas, being the first elves he had ever met   
while his wife, Akallabeth, remained silently and spent her time observing those   
at the banquet table.

  


"Lady Melia," General Castigliari directed his question at   
Melia when the evening had worn on and the Haradrim men had come to the   
conclusion that it was socially acceptable to address the females at the table   
directly. "You are not of the Westernesse are you?"

  


Melia supposed at some point in the evening, this observation   
would be raised and had sufficiently prepared herself for the inevitable   
questions that would follow. "No, I am from the Sunlands."

  


"From the Sunlands?" Castigliari exclaimed, drawing the   
interest of his king and his queen to the subject as all eyes centered upon   
them, much to Melia’s dislike.

  


"Yes," Melia nodded. "I am from the Tribe of Bors."

  


"The Bors," Castigliari nodded contemplatively. "You are a very   
long way from where you began. Our people have waged war with the Bors for many   
years."

  


"I left for reasons of my own," she replied, having no wish to   
explain the details of her life. 

  


"I am surprised you were permitted to depart," Ulfrain   
retorted, with a hint of disapproval in his voice that she had dared to break   
tradition by leaving on her volition it seemed. 

  


"Melia has told us how women are confined to their homes,"   
Legolas spoke up, compelled to defend Melia no matter what the occasion, "it   
seems rather restrictive, if not somewhat cruel."

  


"It is for our protection," Akallabeth surprised everyone by   
countering. "In the days of darkness, when we were forced to live under the rule   
of the dark lord, his minions would walk among our people. They did many   
terrible things to our women. It was decided that it was for our protection that   
we remained hidden from their eyes and from the eyes of all men."

  


"But you, yourself are here," Eowyn pointed out.

  


"Yes," Ulfrain answered instead. "My lady is a queen and a   
queen must take certain risks for her people. It is necessary for Akallabeth to   
be present during these proceedings but we still observe the custom in our   
lands."

  


"As it is your right of course," Aragorn added with a tone of   
appeasement, before this debate became any livelier than it was. "We do things   
differently here. Our women are accustomed to speaking at their own discretion   
and sometimes picking up a sword to defend their homes."

  


"A woman in a battle?" Ulfrain laughed arrogantly. "Women do no   
have the sensibility to endure in combat."

  


From where he was seated, Faramir threw a sidelong glance at   
Eowyn and warned under his breath, "Eowyn, restrain yourself. They are   
_guests_."

  


Eowyn glared at him through narrowed eyes, "you ask a great   
deal of me."

  


"I know," Faramir said quietly, beneath the hearing of the   
Easterlings. "But knowing your temper, it is for the best that you refrain from   
making comment."

  


Eowyn smoldered in her seat and noted the grateful expression   
Aragorn was offering the Prince of Ithilien for his timely instruction to his   
wife whose temper Aragorn knew as well as Faramir himself. Fortunately, it   
appeared that Eomer was not about to let that remark slide out of respect to the   
women present. It was also an effort to gain some kind of vindication for his   
sister whose own retort would not be as tactful. 

  


"I beg to differ," Eomer spoke up, "the lady Eowyn fought at   
the Battle of Pelennor. It was _she_ who slew the beast of Angmar."

  


"You were the warrior that killed the Witch King?" Castigliari   
stared at Eowyn with unmistakable astonishment. 

  


"He was terribly confident that he could not be slain by mortal   
man," Eowyn shrugged, remembering Faramir’s order and forced herself to respond   
with civility, "therefore my presence at the battle was fortuitous."

  


"An amazing story," the general replied with a smile that had a   
tinge of admiration in it. "It is customary for your women to learn the sword,   
King Elessar?"

  


"Not customary," Aragorn answered, "however, we do not prevent   
them if they wish to learn."

  


"And do you know sword craft, Queen Arwen?" Ulfrain inquired   
with distaste by the whole notion of women bearing arms. 

  


"I have learnt in my time," Arwen replied. "One cannot live for   
as long as I have and not. While the First Born have not warred for many   
centuries before the last war, we have known our share of troubles from orcs and   
goblins. It is a necessary skill to have in the absence of warriors."

  


"Perhaps our own women will surprise us in time," Castigliari   
commented. "With the world changing as it has in recent years, it is difficult   
for things to remain as they are in our own lands."

  


"I cannot see any reason why they should not," Ulfrain   
interjected. "I personally find it offensive for a woman to fight. Their use   
should be as child bearers, nothing more. Certainly my queen’s only purpose in   
the scheme of things is to produce a son for my continued reign."

  


"My father taught me how to fight," Melia found herself   
speaking before she could stop herself. How many times had she heard the   
arrogance of this same argument during her youth? The belief that women were too   
weak for anything beyond the business of child bearing, as if that were not a   
laborious task in itself. "He taught me to fight without a weapon and with   
it."

  


"She does not lie," Gimli added, disliking the disregard for   
the fairer sex being displayed. While he was mindful of Easterling customs, the   
very idea of anyone thinking his Lorin weak or useful only a tool of procreation   
offended his sensibilities. "I have seen the lady Melia with a crossbow and   
would pit her skills against any man."

  


"Your father taught you?" Ulfrain turned a disapproving eye   
upon her. "I suppose they do things differently in Bors. Perhaps that is why   
they have been at odds with the rest of the Haradrim for so long."

  


"Actually," Melia confessed, "the Bors think much the same as   
you do in regards to their women. However, my father was different. He felt the   
daughter of Hezare should be capable of defending herself."

  


"You are Hezare’s daughter?" Ulfrain exclaimed with shock,   
obviously recognizing the name. 

  


"You know of him?" Legolas asked.

  


"Yes," Castigliari nodded without hesitation. "The tale of   
Hezare’s death is of great legend among my people, even though he was considered   
an enemy."

  


"He died well," Ulfrain explained for the benefit of those who   
did not know Easterling culture. "For our people, there can be no greater honor   
than falling in battle. It was said that during his last battle, he took a dozen   
men to his death before he finally succumbed."

  


"A warrior to the last," Imrahil remarked. 

  


"It was what he desired," Melia offered, having come to terms   
with his death long ago and was somewhat pleased that Hezare had died exactly   
how he had lived, on his feet with a sword in his hand. "I am grateful to know   
that he went into the next world with honor."

  


With that statement, Arwen steered the conversation in another   
direction, asking Ulfrain to tell them about Far Harad and the Haradrim, sparing   
Melia any further indignity by having her past discussed as a subject of dinner   
table conversation. Despite her efforts to accept the Easterlings for what they   
were, Arwen could not help feeling a wave of dislike regarding their way of life   
and wondered if they would be equally merciful if it were Gondor who was in   
need. Arwen was almost certain they would not be. However, Estel’s desire to   
make them allies would ensure stability in the region and any action that   
prevented war had Arwen’s full endorsement.

  


The rest of the evening transpired smoothly with everyone at   
their best behavior despite the nature of some of Ulfrain’s questions.   
Castigliari was not as intrusive in his inquiries and while the sense that Arwen   
drew from the general that the notion of peace was one that was foreign to him,   
he appeared to be making an honest effort. 

  


Of the queen Akallabeth, Arwen had no sense of anything at all.   
On several occasions throughout the evening, Arwen had cast her gaze across the   
table at Legolas, wondering if the elven archer had sensed the same things as   
she, however Legolas seemed oblivious. Like all the men at the table, the only   
thing that did not seem beyond his notice was the sinful pleasure of   
Akallabeth’s effect upon them. Even Aragorn was stealing glimpses of the woman   
in her scandalous clothing but his interest was the universal reaction of all   
males when sensing a new female in their presence, whether or not they were men,   
elf or even a much lower order of animal. 

  


She should have felt jealousy but Arwen had too much faith in   
Aragorn’s love to doubt his faithfulness to her and she was not so insecure in   
character, to feel jealousy over what was merely an atypical male response.   
Still, her instincts would not relax in their disquiet because she sensed   
something from the woman that put her on guard. It was foolishness of course.   
Akallabeth was powerless by her own culture to visit any mischief upon Arwen and   
her own. Ulfrain clearly did not approve of allowing her to act upon her own   
accord despite the furtive connection her eyes made with many parties at the   
table during the course of the evening. 

  


And yet when Arwen looked at Akallabeth there was this   
unsettling feeling rising from the pit of her stomach that she could not   
explain. It was foolishness, she knew but Arwen could not help it. One could not   
live for three thousand years and be unable to recognize when something was   
amiss. Yet, Arwen could not sense a single thing in Akallabeth’s company, that   
might give evidence to her suspicions. In fact, Arwen sensed nothing at all   
about Akallabeth. 

  


It was almost as if she was not even there.

  


************

  


 

  


It was well into the night when the revelers finally ended   
their feasting and retired to their rooms. Scattering across the expanse of the   
palace, Ulfrain and his queen were escorted to their chambers by one of their   
own guards. Neither spoke as they stepped out of the hallway into the seclusion   
of their private quarters. The guard bade them a hospitable goodnight before   
withdrawing himself, ensuring that his king and queen had everything they   
required for the evening. The guard took his sentry position outside their door   
and would remain there to ensure the protection of his sovereign. In an alien   
land, in the court of a foreign king, Castigliari had insisted on this measure   
of protection for his king and queen. 

  


"That was tedious," Ulfrain stated the instant he and his queen   
were alone in their chambers. 

  


"I agree," Akallabeth remarked removing the jewelry that   
adorned her body. "However, it served its purpose."

  


"I do not see how," Ulfrain grumbled, shedding his cloak like   
the animal whose pelt he was wearing might shed its summer coat. The garment   
pooled on the floor behind him before he went to a chair and lowered himself   
into it. 

  


"One must study the enemy if one is to strike," Akallabeth   
replied. "Your race’s natural disbelief that the female of the species is a   
weaker animal is a dangerous flaw. You discount them as enemies and are taken by   
surprise when you learn that they are quite capable of defending themselves and   
their lands. It was necessary that I observe all of our enemies, not merely the   
kings and lord of Middle earth but also their women."

  


"What concern are they to us once your scheme comes to   
fruition?" Ulfrain declared slighted by her tone. 

  


"Never discount an enemy," Akallabeth said turning to him. "You   
may think that because the odds are great and because they are women, they will   
not be able to fight. Me and mine will not take such risk, nor will we discount   
the danger that the Evenstar poses to us. We have done so before to the utter   
ruin of everything we held dear. We will not do so again."

  


"This is different," Ulfrain started to say, fearing a little   
the sparkle of bald hatred in her eyes. Long before this notion of sealing their   
alliance in this ceremony of peace was conceived by the Gondorian king, Ulfrain   
had already sealed his people’s fate in a secret agreement with the new ally   
presently occupying the room with him. Not even Castigliari or any of his people   
had any idea of the bargain he had struck to ensure their freedom. 

  


"No it is not," Akallabeth countered, smoldering fury in each   
word that escaped her lips. "You have done your part in this endeavor. You have   
allowed us to enter Minas Tirith undetected. I require nothing further from you   
but silence until our game is done. By the time the twilight sets upon the first   
day of the treaty, you will have acquired what even your former master, the   
underling of Morgoth could not, the taking of the White City."

  


"And what will you have?" Ulfrain stared at her, feeling a   
shudder of cold fear following her venomous words.

  


"The dark," she smiled, "we will have the dark again."

  


 

  


*************

  


"I think that went well," Aragorn replied as he and Arwen   
prepared for bed following their return to the royal chambers.

  


"I suppose," Arwen agreed as she undressed, unaware that this   
was her husband’s favorite ritual at bedtime. 

  


"You do not think it was so?" Aragorn asked as he draped   
himself across their bed, watching her in fascination as she prepared to join   
him. He knew the ritual almost by heart now, the little things she would do   
before coming into his arms at night. He simply loved watching her shed the mask   
of queen so that she could come to him as his beloved Undomiel who needed no   
embellishment to make his heart flutter at the sight of her. 

  


"They are a difficult people to like," she remarked as she ran   
her brush through her hair before her dressing table. "Their concept of a   
woman’s place is most barbaric."

  


"I agree," Aragorn replied sincerely, "unfortunately, there is   
very little we can do about that. Their customs are their own; I have no right   
to impose my values upon them. It was difficult enough convincing them that we   
had no ulterior motive for providing them with the grain to help their people. I   
am afraid that Sauron’s will upon them has left its mark. It will take many   
years to change their way of life. I only hope that close ties with the rest of   
Middle earth in the years to come will open their eyes to other   
possibilities."

  


"I noticed yours were very open," she teased as she looked over   
her shoulder at him, her brow arched in mischief. "Particularly where Akallabeth   
was concerned."

  


Aragorn gave his wife a look, "I would not worry if I were you.   
To admire a beautiful painting does not mean a desire to have possession of it.   
I would not be a man if I did not notice her. She is very beautiful but somewhat   
unnaturally so, do you not think?"

  


Arwen swung around on her stool to face him, "that is a   
peculiar description, Estel. Why do you say unnaturally?"

  


"I do not know," Aragorn shrugged because there was something   
in the back of his mind that wanted to speak but was clouded over and difficult   
to express into words. "Undomiel, you are the fairest in the land, there is no   
one in all of Middle earth who would say either wise."

  


While the flattery was not unwelcome, she did not understand   
what he was point he was attempting to make. "What about Lothiriel?" She   
countered,

  


"She is but a girl in compared to you," he grinned as he moved   
up along the bed to its edge, so that they were face to face. "I meant that you   
are truly fair but it is because of your heart that you are loved by all, men   
and women alike. To know you is to see that the only thing more beautiful than   
your visage is your soul. It is that I love more than all else."

  


"You do know how to melt my heart, King Elessar," she smiled   
and leaned forward to kiss him on the lips. 

  


"Only because you do me the same turn with your smile," he said   
warmly before returning to the point he was making. "I make the distinction   
because when I see Akallabeth, I see beauty but nothing else beneath it. It as   
if she were a sculpture made of stone, created to be aesthetically pleasing but   
little else."

  


"That may not be by her choice," Arwen pointed out, "she is   
encouraged to be little else by her people. That is what the men of Harad expect   
her to be. "

  


"I suppose," Aragorn remarked as he took her hands and pulled   
her to him. "I wonder will she remain silent throughout their entire visit   
here."

  


  
"Perhaps the time here will open her eyes a little," Arwen   
remarked as she nestled comfortably in the crook of his arm as they held each   
other. "Once this business of the treaty is done, we all relax and truly become   
acquainted with one another."

  


"I never thought diplomacy could be such hard work," Aragorn   
sighed, breathing in the scent of her hair and feeling himself become   
intoxicated by the comfortable warmth of her embrace. "I do not know Elrond   
managed it for so many years."

  


"He had his moments," Arwen sighed contently in her husband’s   
embrace as she felt the same drowsiness pushed gently against her consciousness.   
"However, when it became too much for him, my father did resort to an ancient   
form of meditation and relaxation."

  


"Oh?" Aragorn asked interested. "Do not keep it a secret, if it   
would help fade the crease in my brow, I would be willing to learn."

  


Arwen smiled against his and replied, "it is called   
screaming."

  


Aragorn lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze before   
remarking with a lopsided smile, "on second thought, do not trouble yourself. I   
think I am familiar with that technique."

  


"I thought you might be," she giggled softly.

  


"I love you Undomiel," Aragorn replied as he covered her body   
with his and showed her just how much.

  


************

  


 

  


Lothiriel had spent much of the night wishing she were in any   
place other than in the banquet hall amongst the kings and lords of Middle   
earth. Though the conversation throughout the evening was even interesting to   
her, she had no desire to participate. It was not that she was being unfriendly.   
It was simply the fact that everyone around her had lived through such great   
times and she felt rather overwhelmed in their company. Despite herself, she   
could not deny that her father had been correct. She _had_ been living   
inside books and spells for too long. 

  


It seemed everyone at the table had gone out and found their   
own destinies, instead of waiting for it to unfold before their eyes. Even the   
ladies had not simply waited in complacence for their life to change. Arwen had   
lived through times Lothiriel could not even begin to imagine and the queen was   
not one to let the world pass her by. When her child had been endangered, Arwen   
Evenstar, Queen of the Reunified Kingdom had ridden off to the far north to   
defend him with her sword and her life. Lothiriel had not even the courage to   
leave her room until her father gave her no choice. 

  


When she left the banquet hall, retiring for the evening during   
the thick of the feasting, she had sneaked away like a frightened child. It was   
no wonder she was never able to perform the magic she knew she was capable of.   


  


How could she when everything frightened her?

  


"You should not be wandering about the palace at this time of   
night unescorted," a voice that was not her father’s stated behind her as she   
left the hall.

  


Lothiriel paused in her steps and looked over her shoulder to   
find Eomer standing behind her in the corridor. Throughout the evening, he had   
barely said two words to her though he did glance her way occasionally.   
Lothiriel felt uncomfortable being alone with him because she did felt an   
unwilling curiosity to know what was behind that intense gaze he seemed to aim   
in her direction when he thought he was not being observed. As he stood before   
her, she was suddenly struck by the notion that he was just as uncomfortable as   
she. It had never occurred to her that he might be just as unwilling as she   
about this entire situation. 

  


"I do not think I will be in great peril," Lothiriel found her   
voice, though rather meekly. "This is the palace of the king."

  


"True," Eomer agreed with a little smile, "but I should like to   
escort you to your suite nevertheless."

  


"I do not know whether my father would approve," she replied   
before frowning inwardly at the fact that Imrahil would most likely be thrilled   
that his desire for a match between them was beginning to show signs of success.   
She despised her father when he thought he had won. He could be terribly   
smug.

  


"I think we both know what your father would approve," he said   
sardonically, placing himself at her side and ensuring a respectable gap lay   
between them. 

  


"Do you want to marry me?" She asked him pointedly as they   
began walking down the wide corridor. 

  


"I do not know," Eomer offered sincerely because such a direct   
question deserved an equally direct answer. "I must confess my counselors have   
been hounding me on this issue for some time now and as king I suppose it is   
only right that I should marry. A kingdom without an heir is dangerous and my   
people have known too much war of late for me to let them suffer such   
uncertainty."

  


"So you do not want a wife but rather a breeding mare,"   
Lothiriel spoke with more boldness than she thought herself capable.

  


"If I did, I would not be in the position of risking my   
friendship with your father because of this whole affair. I would have simply   
consented to the union he so obviously desires between us and be done with   
it."

  


In truth, Eomer was not offended by what she had said but   
rather surprised that she finally produced enough spine to say it. He had   
watched her for the past two days and noticed how she tried to fade into the   
background. He could not imagine a nobleman’s daughter could become so sheltered   
that she was terrified to speak her mind. Eomer did not imagine Imrahil being a   
restrictive father. On the contrary, the manner in which the man spoke of his   
child indicated that he thought highly of Lothiriel and yet she was so lacking   
in the skills of social interaction, Eomer had to wonder if Imrahil had kept her   
in some tower for most of her life.

  


"I apologize," Lothiriel said after a moment, "that was   
undeserved."

  


"Consider it forgotten," Eomer replied. "Though you might tell   
me why he is so insistent that you be married. I have the sense that this is   
more about you then it is about me finding a queen."

  


"He thinks I spend too much time hiding behind books,"   
Lothiriel offered, confiding in him because he was as much a victim in this as   
she was and Lothiriel was starting to feel some empathy towards him. "He wishes   
to marry me off so my life might begin, so he says."

  


"That is hardly a crime that deserves you being married off at   
a moment’s notice," Eomer replied, thinking it would be strange that Imrahil   
would object to his daughter improving her mind with books. Imrahil was learned   
himself. If anything, Eomer thought he would encourage it. 

  


"It is the kind of books I read," she added reluctantly.

  


"Oh?" He raised a brow. "Not those awful things with overt   
description about intimate relations between men and women?" 

  


Lothiriel’s jaw dropped, "of course not!" 

  


"There," Eomer replied with a smile, "I knew that there was a   
voice somewhere there."

  


"There will be curses too if you make that comment again," she   
returned tautly but broke into a smile of her own a moment later. 

  


"So what then?" Eomer asked. "What kind of books would upset   
your father so?"

  


Lothiriel supposed that there was no harm in his knowing.   
Besides, if he knew the truth then perhaps he would tell Imrahil outright that   
he would have nothing to do with her and that might put an end to her father’s   
plans of marrying her off. 

  


"Books of magic," she admitted quietly.

  


"Magic?" Eomer exclaimed, taken by surprise. Aside from   
learning that perhaps she was not as vacuous as he initially thought, the girl   
had personality enough to acquire a very peculiar hobby. No wonder Imrahil was   
determined to wed her away. Eomer’s friendship with Gandalf the White had made   
him accustomed to the ways of wizards and to a smaller extent, magic. Though he   
did not like the invocation of powers he could not see, Gandalf had taught him   
that it was not to be feared if used wisely. Magic was an untapped part of the   
natural world that only a select few had access. 

  


"Yes," Lothiriel nodded, fearing the worst by his reaction. "I   
have always wanted to learn about magic and spells. I suppose you think me an   
oddity as my father does?"

  


"Do you practice it?" Eomer asked, ignoring her preconceived   
notions about his thoughts.

  


"Not well," she replied, supposing she might as well reveal   
this to him, since she had told him so much already. No doubt, he was thinking   
of what he would say to Imrahil about extricating himself from any possibility   
of a marriage, even as he stood before her. "A good many of my spells have gone   
awry. My father was most upset."

  


"I can well understand that," he pointed out, trying to stifle   
the chuckle that wanted to escape him at the ordeal Imrahil must have endured   
throughout the years, loving a child with such a mischief making past time. "He   
was probably beside himself with fear that you might harm yourself or   
others."

  


"He did mention that," Lothiriel shrugged. "I suppose that you   
will tell my father now that you have no wish to marry such a strange   
maiden?"

  


"Have you met my sister?" He gave her a look. "After having her   
spar with me for most of our childhood with the sword, for me strange is a   
matter of perspective."

  


"You mean you do not intend to tell my father you wish to   
abandon the possibility of a marriage between us?" She exclaimed, uncertain   
whether or not she should be upset with him or impressed at his open   
mindedness.

  


"Not until I know you a little better," Eomer replied. "This is   
our first real conversation. It will take more than this one occasion for me to   
decide I cannot abide you."

  


She stared at him, "thank you, I think."

  


"Lothiriel," he said seriously as they finally reached the door   
to the suite of rooms occupied by her and her father, "I will not be party to   
forcing you into anything you do not wish. Your father may desire the marriage   
but if you do not, then that is all there is to it. He is my friend and I do not   
relish the insult I would give to him by refusing your hand in marriage but I   
will if it suits neither of us. You need not fear being forced into it, at least   
not by me." 

  


Lothiriel found herself captured by that penetrating gaze and   
believed with all her heart that he meant to keep that promise. He was so unlike   
what she had expected. Prior to her arrival here, she had built in her mind the   
illusion that he was some heartless creature that was forcing her into a prison   
like existence she did not wish. This fantasy had allowed her to feel justified   
in her decision to flee Minas Tirith, leaving behind all she knew. However, it   
was not so easy to maintain now that she had met the King of the Mark and   
discovered that he was not the monster she believed but rather a man with a   
seemingly kind heart, caught up in this situation as helplessly as she. 

  


"Thank you,’ she spoke after a moment debating these thoughts   
in her head. "I do not know how it will all turn out King of the Mark, but I   
will not forget your kindness."

  


"I am glad," he replied with a smile. "I bid you goodnight   
lady."

  


With that, he departed, leaving her to watch him   
contemplatively. Lothiriel turned away when she could not longer see him, her   
thoughts had suddenly become a storm of emotions conflicting with one another.   
She did not know whether or not she could marry Eomer of Rohan but for the first   
time since her father had told her of his desires, Lothiriel realized   
something.

  


Marrying the King of the Mark was still frightening but loving   
him was not.

  


*************

  


The White Tower seemed to gleam like a needle in the sunlight   
on the day the history treat was to be signed. After so many years of toil and   
battle, when the folk of Gondor believed that they would never know anything as   
luxurious as lasting peace, the people of Middle earth were about to enter a   
union that would bring them to the day when war was merely a distant memory.   
Despite the importance of the occasion, the actual signing of the treaty was a   
private affair, with only the leaders of Middle earth in attendance at the great   
hall. The celebration would come later, when the representatives of the king   
made the announcement on the wall of the Citadel, to all the people of Minas   
Tirith.

  


Throughout the city, all those who would rejoice at this new   
peace were preparing the eminent celebration with great fervor. It was the same   
within the walls of the palace as servants went about their duties, happily   
chatting amongst themselves and looking forward to the celebration that they too   
would have some opportunity to enjoy once their service was done. For many of   
them, it was difficult not to be effected by the atmosphere of revelry, not when   
they still possessed fresh memories of how Minas Tirith had almost fallen to the   
forces of dark lord in Mordor. 

  


The business of the treaty was a matter for men and as the   
leaders of Middle earth, assembled in the throne of King Elessar; their ladies   
busied themselves with other matters. Arwen was not offended because she knew   
that their absence was a concession made to the Easterling king, who felt that   
women should not be present in what was wholly a matter for men. Although   
Aragorn had been prepared to argue the case in her favor, it was Arwen who   
beseeched him to let the matter pass. After all, she knew her worth to her king   
and she did not need him to prove it to her by insisting upon her presence when   
it might jeopardize the peace that he had so carefully cultivated these past   
months.

  


  
Eowyn who lived at the court of Rohan for most of her life,   
was well aware of the demands of politics and did not take this as a slight   
while Melia had no wish to be anywhere near Ulfrain at all. The Easterling king   
had far too much interest in how she had come to be so far from the Sunlands   
then the former Ranger found comfortable. She was more than happy to be excused   
from the duty of being present. 

  


Thus, Melia and Eowyn spent the day riding, with Nunaur   
escorting two ladies. Arwen was certain that the march warden of Eden Ardhon’s   
insistence on joining them had more to do with his curiosity about the White   
City and the surrounding lands then to providing a suitable escort for two   
ladies who were capable of fending for themselves. Arwen had wished Lothiriel to   
accompany them but the young woman was nowhere to be found and Arwen suspected   
that she was most likely hiding somewhere to escape the talk of impending   
marriage. Arwen herself, would have like to have joined Eowyn and Melia but she   
was needed at the palace for there was much to do this day and even the Queen of   
Gondor had endure the occasional sacrifice.

  


There would be time enough to celebrate when the treaty was   
signed. 

  


***************

  


Aragorn Elessar had much reason to be proud on this day once   
the ink had soaked into the parchment that made up the papers of the newly   
formed alliance. As they shook hands and commended themselves at being able to   
put aside past differences to build a new future, he felt for once the weight of   
responsibility was not such a terrible burden when this was the end result.   
Behind closed doors, Ulfrain and he had met, with Faramir, Legolas, Gimli,   
Imrahil, Eomer and Castigliari bearing witness to they occasion as they each   
cast their seal upon the scrolls that would return to each of their realms as   
the proof of their alliance.

  


"You have been most hospitable Elessar," Ulfrain declared once   
they had done away with the business at hand and were relaxing around the table   
where the treaty was signed. 

  


"You are my guest Ulfrain," Aragorn said graciously, "and while   
you continue to remain in my kingdom, you will be treated as a friend."

  


"Thank you," Ulfrain bowed his head in gratitude. "I would like   
to show you a token of my appreciation." He gestured to a servant who had been   
allowed in the room to replenish goblets and see to the needs of the party   
present. The young man, one Aragorn knew well, was apparently anticipating   
Ulfrain’s beckoning and stepped forward promptly. He came forward with a curious   
looking bottle and several goblets poised on a silver tray.

  


"This is a spirit of my realm," Ulfrain explained as the   
serving boy began to pour the amber fluid into the goblets upon reaching the   
table. "We use it to celebrate important occasions for it is rare indeed."

  


"Yes," Castigliari added. "It comes from the flower of a plant   
that blossoms only once in seven years. The plant itself is rare so there are   
very finite quantities of sektari, that is what we call it, in existence   
anywhere."

  


The servant offered the men at the table a goblet each of the   
sektari once it was poured and Aragorn took a exploratory sniff and found that   
it had some measure of potency. "A good reason to imbibe it so   
infrequently."

  


"I am always eager to try different kinds of spirit," Gimli   
remarked but did not hold the goblet to his lips, not yet.

  


Ulfrain noted their hesitation but did not take offense. If   
anything he had half expected their hesitation. After all, poison was a very old   
way of removing a political rival and Elessar would have been within his rights   
to employ a food taster in such a situation. However, to allay the fears of   
everyone present, despite the mood of supposed goodwill, he raised the goblet to   
his lips and took a deep swallow. Castigliari followed suit and only when both   
the Easterlings had lowered their goblets, did the Westernesse of Middle earth   
partake from their own.

  


"A very distinct flavor" Faramir remarked after a moment as the   
fluid warmed his insides.

  


"Yes," Legolas nodded and his senses were far keener than those   
present. "It leaves something against the tongue."

  


"It does take some becoming accustomed to," Castigliari   
volunteered politely. "This vintage however, does seem a little different from   
what I have tasted before."

  


"How so?" Aragorn asked. Despite himself, the king could not   
deny his healer’s instincts who was curious to know the effects of any   
concoction, mostly because he had acquired a vast knowledge of herb lore during   
his time as a Ranger and employed them often when healing the sick or   
injured.

  


"If there is fault in it, I cannot taste it," Eomer remarked,   
draining the goblet because its contents were so pleasing to the taste.

  


"Yes," Imrahil agreed with a nod, having in his time,   
experienced a great deal of fine spirits and found none that could compare to   
the texture of this one. "It is truly magnificent."

  


Castigliari stared at the men before him and noted that they   
were enjoying the drink a little too much for his liking. Even the elf, who   
apparently had little stomach for hard spirits, had downed the contents of his   
goblet and was reaching for the bottle for more. King Elessar was somewhat dazed   
but he appeared to have as little restraint as the others when he wrestled the   
bottle away from the lord of Eden Ardhon and filled his own goblet with almost   
ravenous need. 

  


"What is going on?" Castigliari turned to Ulfrain in question   
and saw his king, unaffected by the wine. 

  


Aragorn heard Castiglari’s demand but he could not open his   
mouth to respond. Suddenly, he felt as if he were trapped in amber, with   
everything slowing to a snail’s pace around him. Castigliari’s words became   
slurred in his hearing and he noted Legolas dropping his goblet onto the table.   
It seemed as if the chalice took a long time to reach the polished wood before   
it finally landed and rolled onto the floor. Legolas was staggering and his   
words reached Aragorn’s ears as a muffled sound. He saw Faramir trying lowering   
his goblet, eyes flaring in understanding before the fog overtook him too. Gimli   
was trying to stand up from his seated position but could not quite manage it.   
Eomer had actually succeeded in leaving the table but he did not reach further   
than that before he was driven to his knees. Imrahil had already given up in   
defeat. 

  


"What have you done to us?" Aragorn shouted but the sound came   
out of his mouth in a whisper. 

  


Suddenly, what had appeared to Aragorn as the servant boy he   
knew since coming to reside in the palace, was no longer a boy at all but rather   
something else entirely. Whether or not it was because of the wine or some power   
Aragorn could not discern, the boy’s features seemed to melt away and was   
usurped by a was a decidedly feminine replacement. It took Aragorn several   
seconds for him to recognize her.

  


Akallabeth stood before him, her lips pulled across her face in   
a cruel smile as she regarded him and the effects of the sektari upon him. When   
she spoke, her voice was slow but he understood every word of it.

  


"Now that you are in a better frame of mind to listen," she   
smiled coldly, "it is time we can discuss our treaty."

  



	4. Chapter Three: Turnabout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of a signing a historic treaty with the Easterlings that will ensure peace, Aragorn and the other leaders of Middle earth find themselves trapped by a spell that bends their will to the purpose of the beautiful Easterling queen. As enemy troops began to move into Minas Tirith, it is up to Arwen, Eowyn and the newly arrived Lothiriel of Dol Amroth to find a way to break the spell before the enemy accomplishes what Sauron could not, the talking of the White City and Middle earth with it. .

  


Something was wrong. 

  


  
Arwen did not know what exactly prompted this feeling of   
dread but she could not ignore it. With everything in readiness for the   
celebration of the treaty, Arwen had taken a moment to visit Eldarion in the   
nursery. Once the festivities were set in motion, her presence would be required   
for most of the night at the side of the king so while there was a moment to   
spare, she was eager to spend some time with her son. Ioreth was as alway, close   
at hand when Arwen was not, ensuring the crowned prince of Gondor was never   
alone, though the nurse did not spoil him. There was no one else in the whole of   
Gondor whom Arwen had complete confidence in the care of her son, then Ioreth.   


  


Arwen had been sitting in her chair, feeding Eldarion his milk   
when she was struck by a sensation that immediately raised alarm through her   
soul. It passed over her like a shadow and froze her heart in her chest. The   
hand holding Eldarion’s bottle dropped a little, slipping the teat from the   
child’s mouth. Eldarion expressed himself with a small gurgle of protest. Ioreth   
who was changing the baby’s sheets in the crib reacted to the sound by lifting   
her gaze towards the queen and was just as disconcerted by the vacant expression   
on Arwen’s face.

  


"My lady," Ioreth called out. "What is the matter?"

  


Arwen blinked, remembering herself. She swallowed thickly but   
was unable to dispel the uneasiness that settled over in the last few minutes.   


  


"I do not know," Arwen said quietly, her face showing clearly   
how disturbed she was. "Something ill swept over me. It was most   
distressing."

  


In the time that Ioreth had come to be in the service of the   
queen as the royal nurse to the crowned prince, she had learnt one thing about   
elvish senses and that was never to distrust them. Arwen’s connection to her   
child and her husband was defined by her ability to tell by sense alone, if they   
were well or unwell. It was not merely a gift of her elven heritage to have such   
heightened senses but her emotional bonds to her family. 

  


"Are you alright?" Ioreth asked her with concern.

  


"Yes," Arwen nodded slowly. "I am well but I fear something has   
happened."

  


She rose out of her chair and crossed the floor to Ioreth. "I   
must go to Estel," Arwen replied hastily as she handed Ioreth the babe in her   
arms. "I must see for myself if he is well."

  


"I am certain that he is," Ioreth insisted, unable to believe   
that anything could befall the king within the walls of his Citadel. "No danger   
can penetrate him here."

  


"I was once stolen from these very walls," Arwen retorted,   
recounting all too well how the dark elf Eol had stolen her out of her home   
during the first week of Eldarion’s life. "After that, I refuse to believe that   
any place can truly be called impenetrable. I must go see him."

  


"Of course my lady," the nurse answered, feeling a little of   
Arwen's anxiety transposed upon her heart as she took Eldarion in her arms. The   
queen was seldom wrong and if she was fearful then Ioreth knew with utter   
confidence that it was for good reason. 

  


"Thank you," Arwen replied before striding towards the door.   
She had almost slipped past Ioreth’s sight when suddenly she halted in her steps   
and looked over her shoulder at the old woman. "Ioreth, remain here and do not   
let the prince out of your keeping."

  


"I would die before I let anything harm him," Ioreth stated   
with such steel in her voice that Arwen knew she meant it. 

  


Arwen offered Ioreth a slight nod expressing her unspoken   
appreciation before leaving the nursery behind her. She made her way quickly to   
the great hall, telling herself that this was nothing but foolishness; she was   
basing too much on a simple feeling. If she had been fully human, she would   
accepted that argument as being sound but she was _not_ human, she was an   
elf. Perhaps she had chosen to live as mortal but she was still a daughter of   
the Eldar, descended from the elves of Doriath and it was her birthright that   
she be blessed with their keen senses, senses that were almost as important to   
her as sight or smell. Something was amiss; she could feel in her bones. 

  


The question that disturbed most of all however, was whether or   
not she was too late to stop it. 

  


It did not take her long to reach the large doors that barred   
the Great Hall from the rest of the palace. Two sentries were in position   
outside and as Arwen proceeded with every intention of passing them, she was   
suddenly astonished by the fact that they had quickly moved to obstruct her   
progress.

  


"I am sorry your highness," the guard said with apology etched   
upon his face, clearly unhappy by the duty he was forced to undertake at this   
moment. "We cannot allow you to pass."

  


"I have no time for nonsense," she declared sharply. "I will   
see the king."

  


"No," the guard stood his ground, his spear and that of his   
companion, created an effective obstruction before her. "We have been ordered by   
the king not to let anyone interrupt him during the signing of the treaty."

  


"I do not care!" Arwen snapped. "I will see him now. You will   
let me pass immediately!" 

  


"We cannot disobey the king’s orders," the man answered   
sincerely. "He ordered us not to let anyone interrupt him."

  


"I am his queen," Arwen returned imperiously, "he will have   
your heads for this insult upon me. He has never barred me from his presence for   
longer than before either of you have lived. He will be furious if you do not   
let me see him."

  


"My lady," the guard tried to reason with her, "we have our   
orders." 

  


"Then you will tell him that I am here and wish to see him,"   
Arwen said in a low voice, her temper barely restrained, " _immediately_."   


  


Perhaps shaken by the intensity of her words or the possibility   
that the king would want to see the queen, the guard decided that it could not   
hurt to confirm that the orders he had received from King Elessar included Queen   
Arwen. After all, she was right about never being barred from the king’s   
presence for any reason since Aragorn Elessar had taken up residence here. The   
guard himself had felt some reservation when the orders were first given but it   
was not his lot to question the king in any shape or form.

  


When he finally relented and disappeared into the hall to   
inform Aragorn that she was here to see him, Arwen felt her heart pounding in   
her chest. She could not believe that such orders would include her, without   
good reason. Nothing had transpired this last day warranted such action. Or had   
it? She was forced to ask herself the question when she considered his orders   
more deeply. Her instinct for danger had brought her here. Was this part of   
it?

  


She had little time to debate the matter further for the guard   
return and gestured to his companion to widen the door so that she could   
pass.

  


"The king bids you to enter my lady," he answered contritely,   
wearing an expression of obvious concern about how this would effect his future   
in the palace. 

  


Arwen said nothing as she entered, even though she knew she was   
within her rights to be smug. However, she could not be so self-assured when it   
felt as if she were skirting the periphery of disaster. 

  


Upon entering the hall, she saw the king and the rest of their   
friends seated around the table that had been placed there for the purpose of   
signing the treaty. Everyone appeared well enough, except the general   
Castigliari who had a strange glimmer in his eyes that could have been   
anxiousness. The others however, seemed relaxed and comfortable as if nothing   
troubled them. Yet as she advanced further toward them, her senses screamed   
alert with each step she took. 

  


"Undomiel," Aragorn spoke when she neared him enough. "I had   
thought you would respect my desire not to be interrupted. I gave those orders   
to my guards for a reason."

  


Arwen was stunned by his words and noted that the others were   
staring at her with just as much disapproval. She tried not to show how shaken   
she was by this because these were men that she considered more than just   
friends but almost like family. Legolas’ gaze was indifferent as he stared at   
her wearing an aloof mask. However, it was Aragorn’s expression that unsettled   
her most. It was devoid of the warmth that she had known since the moment of   
their first meeting. Whenever she came into his presence, she would see a   
sparkle of joy in his eyes told her without doubt she was nothing less than   
wonderful to him. Now his eyes glared at her as if she was a stranger who meant   
nothing.

  


"Even for me Estel?" She asked after composing herself.

  


"Especially you," he said sternly, "because you are my wife and   
my queen."

  


"I thought I was more your love then any of those things," she   
returned, trying to understand what had happened. She gazed briefly at Ulfrain   
and saw no answers there, merely derisive amusement. 

  


"Of course you are," he replied automatically however he said   
them without any true affection but rather an uncomfortable statement of fact.   
"However, love does not alter the fact that it is time you knew your place. When   
I issue orders that I am not to be interrupted, I expect that they are followed,   
even by you."

  


"As it the place of any queen to obey," Legolas added.

  


Arwen stared at him in disbelief. This was the elf that only a   
night ago had argued at the barbarism of treating women like chattel. Legolas’   
words as much as Aragorn’s was sending her carefully erected composure spiraling   
towards panic. 

  


"What has happened to all of you?" She suddenly demanded unable   
to bear this any further. "What have you done to them?" She aimed that   
accusation in Ulfrain’s direction.

  


"My lady," Aragorn said sharply bringing her gaze back to him,   
"you forget yourself. You will not speak to my guests in this manner. Nothing   
has happened to any of us, save that we have been intruded upon by a wife who   
does not know her place."

  


"Estel please," Arwen went to him and placed her hand her hand   
upon his face, "whatever has made you like this, you can fight it. You have the   
strongest will of any creature I have ever known, you can defeat this thing that   
has imprisoned your mind."

  


Aragorn’s eyes widened a second before he shifted his gaze   
towards his companion at the table. For a brief second, no one responded at all   
to Arwen’s plea. She was about to speak further when they suddenly shattered the   
silence of the great hall with riotous laughter. The only one, who did not   
engage in this amusement was Castigliari but it did not matter, the sound was   
almost painful in her ears for all the malice behind it. It was not the laughter   
of amusement but derision.

  


"Oh Undomiel," Aragorn replied after he composed himself. "You   
do have a vivid imagination. Tell me Legolas, is this the way with all elven   
females?"

  


Legolas smiled and raised his eyes briefly to Arwen, a gleam of   
dislike surfacing briefly in his eyes before the cold mask fell over him again,   
"not usually but then Arwen had always been filled with self importance."

  


"Aragorn, please!" Arwen tried desperately to reach him, her   
heart filling with indescribable fear because the situation was worse than she   
possibly imagined. Something had taken over Estel’s mind and for the king to be   
someone else’s creature was a terrifying thing indeed. "Let me help you. Your   
mind is not your own. You would not behave the way you have, if it were."

  


She dropped to her knees before him, taking his hand in her own   
and holding it against her cheek, hoping perhaps the physical contact might help   
him break through this enchantment for she could think of no other name for this   
malaise that had taken his mind. She gazed at his face, desperately searching   
for any signs of the gentle man who had made love to her the night before and   
felt anguish when she could see no trace of him.

  


"Get to your feet," Aragorn’s voice was hard as flint. "You are   
making a spectacle of yourself, madam."

  


  
Arwen swallowed thickly, her heart plunging to the depths   
knowing that wherever Estel was, she could not longer reach him. She stood up   
shakily and took a step behind her before whirling around to face Ulfrain, her   
eyes no longer filled with anguish but rather fury.

  


"I will not allow you to gain control of Middle earth in this   
manner. This is your doing, I am certain of it. What sits in the throne of   
Gondor is no longer my husband, he is your creature and until a way is found to   
lift this terrible veil from the eyes of those present here, I will see to it   
that they will not be of use to you."

  


"Undomiel!" Aragorn shouted and forced her attention back to   
him, away from Ulfrain whose only reaction to her declaration was a triumphant   
sneer. 

  


"You are unwell," he stated firmly, "I think perhaps it is best   
that you retire to our chambers so I can deal with you when time permits. In   
your current state, I think perhaps that it is best that you forgo the   
festivities this evening. Faramir, Legolas, I would ask you to escort her to our   
chambers and ensure that she remains there."

  


Faramir and Legolas stood up from their places at the table and   
immediately took flanking positions on either side of Arwen. 

  


  
"As you will Aragorn," Faramir replied graciously.

  


"We will see the lady to her chambers, rest assured," Legolas   
added, wrapping his fist around her arm.

  


"Unhand me!" Arwen demanded but his grip was iron. 

  


"Do make this any harder for yourself then it must be   
Evenstar," Legolas warned as he started to pull her away from Aragorn’s   
presence.

  


"I will not let you do this!" Arwen hissed at Ulfrain as her   
two trusted friends pulled her away from the table. 

  


Ulfrain spoke for the first time and he did so with a clear   
smile on his face, "it is already done."

  


As Arwen was forced out of the great hall, with Aragorn   
watching her departure dispassionately and the others seeming just as oblivious   
to her predicament, she feared that Ulfrain could be right.

  


***********

  


 

  


"This is madness!" Castigliari exclaimed once the queen had   
been removed from the room. 

  


"I do not see how you can say that after what you just   
witnessed," Ulfrain said with a satisfied look upon his face. Akallabeth’s plan   
was transpiring far better than anything he might have imagined. When she had   
first proposed it, he had been skeptical. However, seeing it at work had altered   
his opinion considerably. The others at the table were seemingly oblivious to   
everything that had transpired before them, able to act only when the play   
required them to. Nothing would escape their lips that were not sanctioned by   
the puppet master who held their strings. 

  


  
"She knows!" Castigliari declared, unable to hold back any   
longer the storm of frantic thoughts that had been coursing through his mind   
when he had first learnt the truth about this entire charade of a treaty. "She   
will not simply remain in her chambers quietly and allow you to steal her   
husband’s kingdom. She is an elf! They have special senses."

  


"Yes that is true," Akallabeth appeared out of the shadows,   
where she had remained discretely hidden. "She _did_ know. Damn elvish   
perception. It took most of my efforts to mask my presence from her, I could not   
shield him as well."

  


"If she escapes the Citadel to report what she knows, we will   
have the entire army of Gondor thirsty for our blood!" Castigliari cried out.   
"Ulfrain, I have fought for our people longer than you have been alive and what   
you are doing is wrong! It can only end for us in disaster."

  


"I thought you said you had him under control," Akallabeth   
looked at Ulfrain with clear disapproval as she approached Aragorn who was   
seated listless on his throne, making no reaction to anything being said. 

  


"I do," Ulfrain snapped and stared at Castigliari, "it is for   
our people that I am doing this. If not, we would have to bow down before the   
Westernesse like defeated animals! Is that what you want?"

  


"No!" The general demanded, "I do not want that. I want our   
people to endure more than anything but the time for war is over. We can neither   
afford to wage or sustain ourselves while doing it! We do not have the power of   
Mordor behind us any longer and our people are suffering. All they know how to   
do is war! I believed in this alliance, Ulfrain! Times change and we must change   
with it."

  


"We will be in a better position to change when we are in   
control," Ulfrain retorted. "I will not have these Gondorians tell us how we   
should our rule own lands. I will not let them tame us in one of their   
provinces!"

  


"That would never have happened!" Castigliari declared and   
surprised himself by how much he believed it. 

  


"Are you so sure?" Ulfrain countered his argument with just as   
much intensity. "Can you be truly certain that they would not have use their   
offering aid to hold us to ransom?"

  


As much as the Easterling general wanted to deny it, he could   
not commit himself to doing so with complete sincerity. He _did_ have   
doubts. There was a part of him that wish to die like a warrior, not the   
defeated supplicant of a foreign power. However, as a general who had waged   
countless battles in his time, he also knew which fights could not be won and he   
had to accept that this time they were defeated. 

  


"You know I cannot," he turned away as Ulfrain came towards   
him.

  


"You have been my friend and that of my father’s Castigliari,"   
Ulfrain said sincerely. "What I have done will ensure that we will survive and   
also remain ourselves. I never did this with any thought other then that of our   
people."

  


"You bargain with a creature of darkness," Castigliari threw   
gaze at Akallabeth who was watching the proceedings with bored impatience. "I   
hope you do not damn our people as well as yourself in this agreement."

  


Ulfrain swallowed thickly and replied, "I suspect it may be too   
late for me but it will not be for the Haradrim. I need to know that you will   
stand by me in this."

  


Castigliari took a deep breath and wrestled with his emotions.   
Against his better judgement, he knew what he had to do and realized at that   
instant that he was just as damned as Ulfrain. "I will help you in whatever way   
I can."

  


"Thank you old friend," Ulfrain patted him on the shoulder, "I   
knew I could trust you."

  


"My trust is the least of your problems," Castigliari raised   
his eyes to Akallabeth. "The she elf knows that there is something wrong with   
her husband and she is warrior trained. She will attempt to leave the Citadel to   
get word to the rest of Gondor’s military that the king has been enchanted."

  


"No she will not," Akallabeth said coldly and regarded Aragorn   
with a little smile. The king was motionless in his chair, staring blankly into   
empty space as she leaned close to his ear and spoke in soft, dulcet ones. 

  


"Aragorn, your wife intends on stealing your son with the aid   
of her friends, the lady Eowyn and the lady Melia. She intends to spirit him   
away to her father’s city, where he will be forever beyond your reach. She has   
been planning this a long time Aragorn, since he was born and since she   
discovered that she no longer wished to live among the race of men. She was   
planning to leave tonight, while you were celebrating the signing of the treaty.   
If you allow her to escape, you will never see your son again."

  


"No," Aragorn’s lips muttered as his expression shifted from   
anguish to anger with each word that Akallabeth spoke. "I will not allow   
it."

  


"Good," Akallabeth smiled, pleased that the potion she had   
administered to all of them had worked so splendidly. His mind was open to   
suggestion and it only required a skilled enchantress to plant the required   
thoughts in his head. "You know what you must do. You must stop her. You must   
have your guards confine her to her chambers and bring your son to you, beyond   
her reach."

  


"Is that necessary?" Castigliari asked quietly, mesmerized as   
well as appalled by Akallabeth’s powers all at once.

  


"Yes," Akallabeth nodded standing upright and pulling away from   
the king, "she will be so busy trying to reach her son, she will have little   
time to interfere in our plans. Whatever happens, the Evenstar cannot be allowed   
to leave the Citadel to speak of what is transpiring here, her or her   
companions. We will keep them like rats in a cage. By the time, she begins to   
suspect what it is we are truly up to, it will be too late for her or for   
Gondor."

  


************

  


At almost the same time elsewhere, Eowyn, Melia and Nunaur   
returned to the palace before the festival celebrating the treaty was to   
commence. It had been a beautiful day beyond the confines of Citadel’s imposing   
walls and the party had been more than happy to escape it into the country   
around Minas Tirith even for a few hours. The evening would promise nothing but   
duty and tradition so it was a pleasing afternoon when the two women could shed   
their noble titles to simply be themselves. 

  


"You were most a pleasant company Nunaur," Eowyn remarked as   
they left the royal stables and made their way across the courtyard. "You are   
certainly a more agreeable march warden then Haldir."

  


"You have met Haldir of Lorien?" Nunaur asked somewhat   
surprised and curious as to how the lady of Rohan would know of the march   
warden."

  


"Well I met him when he was still Haldir of the Golden Wood,"   
Eowyn answered, recalling with little fondness the encounter. It had been during   
the quest where she had accompanied Arwen to the Blue Mountains. She had been   
injured and they had paused at Lothlorien so that she could be tended to. Haldir   
had called her impetuous when she was determined to be on her feet as soon as   
possible, instead of lingering at Lothlorien in order to recover. Time had been   
of the essence during that quest and Eowyn had no intention of being the reason   
that it was wasted when the stakes had been so high.

  


"And you do not remember him fondly?" Nunaur guessed. He had   
met Haldir on occasion and found the elf somewhat arrogant. Apparently, he was   
_not_ the only one who noticed this particular trait.

  


"Not really," Eowyn replied, remembering with some   
embarrassment how she had told Haldir that if she were not a lady he would be on   
the floor for his impertinence to her.

  


"Haldir can be difficult to tolerate," Melia agreed. "However,   
one simply has to know how to deal with him."

  


"Well not all of us has a special way with understanding elves   
that you do," Eowyn gave her a look of sarcasm.

  


Nunaur chuckled, having enjoyed the witty banter between both   
women exchanged throughout most of the day. They were indeed spirited creatures   
both of them although even Melia seemed temperate compared to the fierce flame   
possessed by the Lady of Ithilien. Having met Eowyn, Nunaur could well imagine   
her standing face to face with the Witch King of Angmar and slaying him in   
battle. She certainly demanded respect, even from one who has lived as long as   
he. 

  


"We will have to hurry," Melia remarked as they neared the   
entrance to the palace, "the celebration is due to commence shortly."

  


"As much at the occasion demands celebration, I think I have   
had my fill of playing the cordial host to these Easterlings," Eowyn sighed.   


  


"You do not like them?" Nunaur guessed by the frown upon her   
face.

  


"It is not that I do not like them," she admitted, "it is their   
ways seems rather barbaric. I never thought I would be consider myself fortunate   
for being born a woman in Edoras, considering I had to sneak away to fight at   
Pelennor disguised as one of the Rohirrim."

  


"The general seems tolerable enough," Melia remarked, unable to   
deny that he reminded her a little of her father. "He appears open to new   
ideas."

  


"Unlike Ulfrain," Eowyn snorted in dislike. "His arrogance   
leaves a great deal to be desired. Offensive indeed!"

  


Eowyn of course referred to the remark Ulfrain had made about   
how women handling weapons was offensive to him. Unfortunately, the demands of   
diplomacy had kept Eowyn from making a rebuttal and inwardly she was still   
seething about it. 

  


They had entered the palace walls when suddenly, Nunaur had   
paused in his steps beside them. The elf’s expression became one of dark concern   
as he halted in the middle of the corridor leading deeper into the structure.   


  


"Nunaur?" Melia stared at him in concern. "What is the   
matter?"

  


"Something is wrong," the elven march warden replied, his eyes   
searching for something neither of them could see.

  


"What do you mean?" Eowyn demanded. 

  


"I sense danger," Nunaur replied appearing somewhat confused by   
what his senses were telling him. "I sense it drawing near."

  


Eowyn felt terribly vulnerable as he made that statement, clad   
in her riding clothes without the benefit of a weapon. With Nunaur in escort and   
because the route taken during their ride was relatively safe, there was little   
reason to be excessively armed. She could not imagine what danger there could be   
but she had been in Arwen’s company long enough to know that the senses of elves   
were not to be distrusted. Too many times before had that perception save their   
lives before and Eowyn was not about to question it now.

  


Suddenly the tension of the moment was interrupted by the   
echoing sound of footsteps marching down the corridor. Nunaur’s gait seemed to   
tense even further as if the danger was pressing up his spine. His hand dropped   
to his hip, resting firmly upon the hilt of the elven blade waiting to be   
unsheathed from its scabbard. Instinct and logic waged a desperate battle inside   
the minds of Eowyn and Melia as they tried to think off all the reasons why   
Nunaur could be wrong. In the end, simple memory won the day because during   
their encounter with the Dark Elf Eol, both women had seen the fragility of the   
palace’s supposedly invulnerable reputation.

  


However, what emerged from the corner of the corridor was not   
some terrible creature of darkness but rather half a dozen palace guards. Their   
gazes fixed firmly upon the two women as they approached and there was something   
in their manner that immediately put Eowyn on guard, though she could not   
understand why she should react to them with such caution. These were guards she   
had seen at every visit she had made to the palace since becoming the Lady of   
Ithilien. There was no reason to fear them and yet instincts made her wary   
nonetheless. They came to a pause before her, their faces were stone as they   
regarded Eowyn and Melia with eyes equally hard. 

  


"Lady Melia, Lady Eowyn," the leader among them spoke. "We   
regret to inform that you are to be taken into custody by the order of King   
Elessar."

  


At first it did not register because it was simply too   
incredible for her mind to accept. 

  


  
"In custody?" Eowyn demanded. "For what reason?"

  


"We have not been told," the man answered, his expression   
showing that he was just as bewildered by this orders but not enough to prevent   
him from carrying them out. "Our orders are only to see to it that you are   
brought into custody."

  


"This is outrageous!" Eowyn retorted as she saw the guards   
making a move towards them. "I do not for one instant believe that the king   
sanctioned this. I demand to see him! Better yet, I demand to see my husband,   
the Steward of Gondor."

  


"Neither the king or the steward will see you my lady," the   
guard answered. "It was _Prince Faramir_ that issued the king’s   
orders."

  


Eowyn was stunned into silence.

  


Behind her, Melia and Nunaur were similarly astonished by the   
guard’s revelation. It was too incredible, all of it. To believe for an instant   
that the Aragorn they knew would order their arrest without even revealing why   
was impossible. However, it was no more improbable then believing Faramir would   
issue orders for his wife’s incarceration. Yet here it was before them, an   
impossibility about to become reality.

  


"I do not believe you," she whispered soft as she struggled to   
regain her composure. Thoughts swirled in her head, memories of the husband she   
loved more than anything, who had entered her life when she was of the belief   
that she would never love again because of a broken heart. He had rekindled the   
spirit inside her with his love, embraced the woman she was as something   
amazing, not at all to be tamed but relished. To believe that he was capable of   
this was impossible and Eowyn refused to believe it. 

  


In fact, she would not.

  


The guard had stood close to her when he revealed his orders,   
preparing to take her into his keeping even though he did not see any danger. It   
would be his undoing. Moving with speed that was almost elvish in its execution,   
Eowyn reached out and pulled away the sword at his hip. He reacted quickly but   
she was faster and by the time, he understood what had happened, the man felt   
the steel point of his sword against his throat.

  


"Withdraw," Eowyn ordered in a low voice.

  


"Do not be a fool my lady!" The guard tried to reason with her   
as the other guards unsheathed their weapons. Nunaur had also reacted in kind,   
offering support to Eowyn as he hurried to her side; his sword also unsheathed   
and brandished.

  


"The rest of you will go back the way you came," Eowyn repeated   
herself, pressing the blade harder against his throat. A little more effort and   
she would break skin. "Withdraw or I will run this floor red with his   
blood!"

  


For a moment, they hesitated, disbelieving that she would carry   
out her threat, but when Eowyn jabbed her the sword a little more, drawing a cry   
of pain from her victim, disbelief melted into understanding. 

  


"There are five of us," one of them cried out as their captain   
trembled beneath Eowyn’s blade. "You cannot hope to fight your way through all   
of us."

  


"I stood before a creature that lived and breathed in Sauron’s   
midst. Darkness followed its every step and in its wake it swept aside warriors   
greater than any of you will ever hope to be with the power of its sorcery. I   
killed this thing and sent it into the shadow realm when all others around me   
had fallen, when even the King of the Mark lay at my feet. Do not presume that   
because I am woman, I cannot fight and defeat each one of you. I have face far   
eviler things then five guards who do not know when to retreat when it is in   
their best interests to do so."

  


Her speech had the desired effect of shaking them and despite   
the fact that they were five armed against two, they decided to heed her advice   
and withdraw. Eowyn stood firm until they had disappeared down the hallway,   
until Nunaur could no longer hear their footsteps. However, the departure was   
temporary and no doubt, even as she and her companions stood their ground, the   
soldiers would be returning soon enough and in greater numbers. When Eowyn   
removed her sword, Nunaur slammed the hilt of his own against the back of their   
prisoner’s neck, causing him to crumple to the floor in an unconscious heap and   
saving them the trouble of worrying about a hostage as they decided what they   
would do next.

  


"That was very impressive," Melia declared with unhidden   
admiration.

  


"Thank you," Eowyn said with a little smile, "I did that rather   
well, did I not."

  


"I would have withdrawn," Nunaur responded. 

  


"We have to find Arwen," Eowyn declared striding down the   
hallway. 

  


"We should find Legolas," Melia replied. "Perhaps he can stop   
this."

  


  
"He could have, he would done so already," Eowyn retorted   
as they took the servants corridors that veered them away from the main halls of   
the palace. "Besides, if my husband can be made to issue such an order, then   
there is no guarantee that Legolas is not affected in the same way."

  


"You cannot be certain of this," Melia countered, not wanting   
to believe that Legolas could be party to this nightmare that was slowly   
unfolding before them.

  


"I think she is right," Nunaur answered grimly. "I sensed   
danger when we entered the palace but it was not the danger of those guards.   
Something of great evil has cast its shadow upon us all. I can feel it all   
around us. It may be unwise to attempt to reach Lord Legolas."

  


"Would it be any easier to reach Arwen?" The former Ranger   
inquired.

  


Eowyn paused briefly as she turned to Melia, "if Aragorn made   
such an order and Faramir ordered it, then reaching the Lord of Eden Ardhon will   
not help us. We need to reach someone in authority and aside from the king and   
the steward, that person is the Queen of Gondor. In any case, I do not believe   
that Arwen would stand by and be party to this without good reason. I am hoping   
she can explain some of this."

  


"It is a worthy course of action, my lady," Nunaur stared at   
Melia.

  


"I agree," Melia nodded after considering Eowyn’s words   
briefly. "However, we cannot remain out in the open like this. We have to reach   
her quickly before the entire palace is roused and hunting for our blood."

  


"I hope it does not come to that," Eowyn replied as they   
started moving again. 

  


Melia hoped the same thing as well but after what they had just   
been witnessed to, it did not seem likely.

  


**************

  


"Your highness, what has happened?" Ioreth asked after Arwen   
and she were left alone after Legolas and Faramir had left the royal   
chambers.

  


Ioreth had remained in the nursery, listening closely with   
rising disbelief as she heard Arwen arguing with the Prince of Ithilien and the   
Lord of Eden Ardhon as Arwen was forced to remain inside the royal chambers with   
armed guards outside her door ensuring she did not leave. Only after the nurse   
had heard the door closing behind the two men did she emerge to find Arwen   
standing in the center of the room, shaking with shock and anger. 

  


"Something has happen to Estel," Arwen finally found her voice   
to speak after seconds of silence. The queen was clearly distressed and   
attempting to gain control of her anxious emotions. "The Easterlings have   
bewitched him somehow."

  


"Bewitched him?" Ioreth exclaimed. "How so?"

  


"He is different," Arwen stammered, "cold. He stared at me like   
I was a stranger, like I meant nothing to him. He would not let me see him and   
rebuked me for not knowing my place. That is not my Estel!" There was an edge of   
panic to the Evenstar’s voice that the old woman had never heard.

  


"Of course it is not," Ioreth hurried to the elven queen and   
consoled her with a comforting embrace. "If you say that he is bewitched, then I   
believe you. I heard Lord Legolas and Prince Faramir, I could not believe that   
is was them speaking if I had not seen it for myself." 

  


There was no doubt in Ioreth’s mind that the king was bewitched   
as the queen claimed. Since the day she had been brought into this palace to   
take on the role of nurse to the crown prince, one thing was evident to her and   
to all those who lived within its walls, the king utterly adored his wife. It   
was a love so powerful that it warmed the heart to see someone as brave and   
noble could feel so much for one woman and seeing that same adoration in his   
loves’ eyes reflected back was equally as satisfying. If even half of what Arwen   
had said was true about Aragorn’s words to her in the great hall, then Ioreth   
was more than convinced that he was under some spell because nothing could   
compel him to speak to Arwen in that fashion.

  


"He has guards at the door," Arwen declared when she pulled   
away from Ioreth’s arms. "Those who control him do not wish to me to leave and   
they know I will try. Come, Ioreth, we do not have much time."

  


"What do you intend to do?" Ioreth asked as Arwen made her way   
to the nursery.

  


"I will remain here in my chambers because I must know what it   
is they plan to have him do," Arwen replied. "Estel and the leaders of Middle   
earth have be cast under some form of enchantment by the Easterlings, the spell   
must be broken. If they are allowed to leave Minas Tirith, the Easterlings will   
have puppets in every realm in the western lands, at Dol Amroth, Rohan, Ithilien   
even at Eden Ardhon."

  


"Then you must leave the Citadel," Ioreth said quickly, "you   
must attempt to reach our war masters and tell them what transpires here."

  


"I cannot leave," Arwen paused at Eldarion’s crib. "They will   
be expecting such a thing of me so it must be you."

  


"Me?" Ioreth’s eyes widened.

  


"Yes," Arwen answered, "it must be you because you must take my   
son with you. I dare not risk his life by allowing him to remain within his   
father’s reach, not when Estel’s mind is stolen. As it is, the enemy who was   
committed this sorcery has a great deal of power with the king under his sway   
and until we are able to convince others of what has happened, if that is even   
possible, there is nothing that is beyond his reach."

  


Ioreth nodded in understanding, despite her fear to do what   
Arwen asked. It was true. If Aragorn were indeed someone else’s creature,   
through him, they would be able to accomplish anything because there was little   
in Gondor that did not bend to the will of King Elessar. She cast her gaze at   
the babe in his mother’s arms, the child that had become as dear to her as any   
of her own children and knew that she would do anything to protect him. 

  


"I will not let anything happen to him my lady," Ioreth said   
firmly and meant it.

  


"Thank you," Arwen smiled, assured that if it were in her   
power, Ioreth would keep Eldarion safe. However they had little time. If guards   
were not yet posted to terrace and gardens outside the royal chambers, there   
soon would be. Ioreth had to leave before they arrived. "Pack as little as you   
can. You need to move swiftly."

  


No sooner than she said those words, both women were alerted to   
a loud pounding against the door to the royal chamber. Arwen paled visibly and   
bade Ioreth to remain silent as she went to investigate. She had hoped for more   
time and her heart sank as the relentless pounding continued, indicating   
whomever was on the other side had no patience to wait. Calming herself, Arwen   
went towards the door, pausing first to retrieve Anduril that was hanging above   
the fireplace. She hid the weapon behind her and continued forward to answer the   
door once more. 

  


When Arwen opened the door, she was not surprised to see the   
guards waiting outside in the hall though she wished she had more time. There   
were at least six of them waiting to be let in and Arwen suspected that the only   
justification for such numbers if they were in anticipation of receiving a great   
deal of trouble from her. There was only one thing that could bear that much   
resistance from her in their eyes and that was if they threatened her child.

  


"What is it?" She demanded.

  


"The king wishes the crown prince brought to him my lady," the   
guard responded. "Please let us in."

  


"He is not here," Arwen lied, aware that it was likely to do   
any good but she had to try nevertheless. "He was taken into the gardens by the   
Lady Ioreth."

  


The guard however was not so easily deceived and wanted proof.   
"I would prefer to see the nursery for myself, my lady."

  


"I do not give you leave to enter the royal chambers guard,"   
Arwen said haughtily, sounding every bit the indignant monarch when she   
spoke.

  


"We have been given permission by the king," the guard repeated   
himself. "Please allow us entry or we shall be forced to take more drastic   
step."

  


"No," Arwen declared firmly.

  


Unfortunately, it appeared that they were more than willing to   
carry out the king’s order and she was shoved away from the doorway when they   
barged past the door, their numbers filling the room. The leader immediately   
took steps towards the nursery but Arwen was far swifter than he to allow him to   
enter. She barred his way with Anduril in her hand, her eyes gleaming with as   
much menace as the blade itself.

  


"Over my dead body, will you take my son," she hissed, raising   
the sword for them to see how determined she was on this point.

  


"Do not make this worse than it already is," the guard   
beseeched her but he had also drawn his weapon.

  


"Your king has been bewitched and you are playing into the   
hands of the enemy by obeying his demands. Do you not think it strange that you   
are ordered to steal a babe from its mother?" Arwen declared, hoping to reach   
them on some level.

  


"The king knows all about your plan to steal the prince away   
from Minas Tirith," the guard retorted. "He knows that you plan to return to   
your elven kinsmen and forsake Gondor!"

  


"What?" Arwen stared blankly at him.

  


The accusation took her by such surprise that her guard slipped   
for an instant and her attacker closed in. The guard had no intention of hurting   
her but he was intent on disarming her of the king’s sword. Unfortunately, Arwen   
had been accustomed to swordplay an age longer than her opponent had and she   
blocked his heavy swipe easily. However, the retaliatory strike brought the   
other guards forward and Arwen realized in a split second of despair that she   
would not be able to stop them all. She only hoped Ioreth had sense enough to   
flee.

  


However, it appeared she was not about to face this battle   
alone. Suddenly, without warning, Eowyn burst into the room, with Melia and   
Nunaur following. Her friend assessed the situation immediately and when her   
arrival deterred the attention of the guards from the queen, Eowyn raised her   
sword to fight. Arwen had little time to watch Eowyn defend herself as the queen   
blocked a powerful blow for the leader of the guards whom she had been battling.   
Anduril clanged hard against his sword and though the weapon was heavier than   
she was accustomed, she proved herself when he stumbled back from the ferocity   
of her attack. She swung the blade over her head, putting all her strength into   
it as she took advantage at his loss of balance He was barely capable of fending   
off her blow, let alone take the offensive.

  


  
Arwen had no wish to hurt him and swung again with just as   
much power behind her blade. Thanks to her elvish heritage, she had far more   
endurance than as he staggered backwards; she searched for something she could   
use to end their battle without actually taking his life. A heavy sculpture at   
the corner of the room came into rich and Arwen grabbed it with one hand and   
smashed the object against the side of his head when he was trying to come at   
her again. The stone carving shattered in her hand, crumbling to the floor as   
fragments and her opponent fell to the ground without a sound.

  


Letting out a sigh of relief, she looked up to see Eowyn   
battling the other guards. It was the first time Arwen had ever seen Eowyn fight   
another human being other than sparring with Melia. She had seen the Lady of   
Ithilien battle cold drakes, slay a dragon and the foul remnants of Mirkwood’s   
spiders but to see her fight an enemy armed with a sword was another thing   
entirely. Arwen could not help but stare with some measure of awe because Eowyn   
was amazingly fast. She was almost as fast as Estel and a part of Arwen was   
almost curious to see how Eowyn would fare against her king in a contest of   
swordplay.

  


Eowyn fought with cold ruthlessness. She did not strike blindly   
and each blow against her opponent was made to count. She did not fight to kill   
but to disable and though she did not resort to the clumsy solution that Arwen   
had employed, she left her challengers with wounds to ensure they would not be   
in any condition to offer pursuit but would eventually recover from. 

  


Melia on the other hand, fought with whatever was at hand, in   
this case the poker from the fireplace. The former ranger had enough agility and   
skill with her hands to ensure that she was able to hold her own. Unlike Eowyn’s   
calculated movements, Melia’s style of defense was spur of the moment and   
intuitive, allowing her to take her opponent by surprise. What was left of the   
guards, Nunaur was able to dispatch with the skill afforded to a denizen of   
Mirkwood who had battled far dangerous things than Citadel guards in his   
time.

  


When the battle was over and the guards were either subdued or   
unconscious around them, the four combatants faced each other with a flurry of   
questions.

  


"Arwen, what in the name of Manwe is going on?" Eowyn demanded.   
When she had entered the queen’s chamber and saw the attack, she had not even   
considered why, only that Arwen needed her help.

  


"They came to take Eldarion," Arwen explained breathlessly,   
still a little stunned that things were unfolding as they were. "Something has   
bewitched Estel. Not just him but all who were present at the signing."

  


"Then that explains why Lord Faramir would order his wife and   
Lady Melia taken into custody," Nunaur shook his head in understanding.

  


"They are all affected by whatever spell the Easterlings has   
wrought upon them," Arwen declared, unsurprised by this news since she   
remembered how Faramir and Legolas had escorted her to her chambers. "The guard   
told me that Estel believed I was going to steal Eldarion away from him and   
return with him to Imladris. They had come to take him away from me."

  


"This may not be the best place for him," Eowyn replied. "If   
what you say is true, if the king’s mind has been taken then Eldarion is a   
powerful bargaining tool to use against you."

  


  
"Agreed," Melia added. "They would use your love for your   
son to control you. That is probably why they had the king order your son   
brought to him."

  


"Ioreth!" Arwen called out. "It is safe for you to show   
yourself."

  


Ioreth appeared shortly after, her expression wrought with   
worry as she held the infant prince in her arms. However, it dissipated   
considerably when she saw that the queen was unhurt. It had been unnerving   
indeed for her to remain hidden when she could only hear the sounds of swords   
clashing beyond the walls of the nursery. Once Ioreth had joined them, Nunaur   
prompted them to leave the royal chambers, taking flight into the gardens that   
surrounded this section of the palace. Unfortunately, the safety it afforded   
would only be fleeting. Once the guards were discovered, the alarm would be   
raised throughout the Citadel.

  


"We must get Eldarion out of here," Arwen stated firmly, "we   
must get to the war masters in the city."

  


Eowyn who was more familiar with the extent of the king’s hold   
upon his kingdom was not convinced this would be any better for Eldarion.   
"Arwen, I do not think that will be any safer. Even if you are able to reach his   
counselors, they will have a difficult time of it being able to unseat Aragorn.   
He is king. His word is law and nothing he has done so far has endangered Gondor   
or its people Not yet at least."

  


"You cannot call our husbands behaviour as normal!" Arwen   
countered.

  


"Evenstar," Nunaur interceded, understanding Eowyn’s point all   
too well. "As distasteful as the Elfstone’s behaviour has been, he has not   
endangered anyone and to them, he is perfectly within his rights to treat his   
wife and his son as he chooses. We cannot guarantee Eldarion will be any safer   
in Minas Tirith then he is here."

  


"You need to take him beyond Aragorn’s reach," Melia suggested.   
"You need to take him out of Gondor."

  


"Out of Gondor?" Arwen gasped with shock but soon realized that   
they were right. Eldarion was not safe and Estel was still king even if his mind   
was bewitched. She thought deeply as to what needed to be done and came to a   
solution far sooner than she would have liked, even though she did not like it   
very much. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her uncertain nerves and revealed   
to her friends, the only way she knew to protect her son. 

  


"He must be taken to Lorien then," Arwen admitted reluctantly.   
"To my grandsire, Celeborn."

  


"Yes," Eowyn nodded agreeing that this was a good choice,   
"Celeborn would ensure no harm comes to Eldarion and not even the armies of   
Gondor would dare attempt to intrude upon Mirkwood without regretting it   
bitterly."

  


"It is a long journey," Melia added, "and one that could prove   
useful because we need a wizard here to break this spell and Pallando still   
dwells at Thranduil’s court. You can take Eldarion to Celeborn and send word to   
Eryn Lasgalen that Pallando is needed in the White City."

  


"Not me," Arwen answered staring at her son a moment before   
raising her eyes to the others. "Ioreth, you will take my son to Mirkwood and   
Nunaur, you will go with her."

  


"I will not leave none of you here alone Evenstar," the march   
warden stated vehemently 

  


"You can and you will," Arwen said firmly, her voice commanded   
the same obedience demanded of her grandmother Galadriel, rather than the Queen   
of Gondor. "This task is far more important than the lives of three women. If   
the Easterlings gain possession of my son, they could conceivably affect the   
future of Middle earth for the next three centuries, do you understand? Through   
his father and through him, they would have the power to spread darkness across   
the land. We cannot let that happen and the only way to ensure that is for you   
to do what I ask."

  


Nunaur’s debate with the decision could be seen clearly on his   
face however, Arwen suspected that he would agree to her wishes. He was an elf   
after all. He would yield to the logic of the situation.

  


"Alright," he finally agreed. "But what about you? What will   
you gain by remaining?"

  


Arwen raised her eyes to Eowyn and Melia before answering,   
"time."

  


Time to stop whatever the Easterlings were planning from taking   
shape. If it was not already too late.

  



	5. Chapter Four:  Fight and Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of a signing a historic treaty with the Easterlings that will ensure peace, Aragorn and the other leaders of Middle earth find themselves trapped by a spell that bends their will to the purpose of the beautiful Easterling queen. As enemy troops began to move into Minas Tirith, it is up to Arwen, Eowyn and the newly arrived Lothiriel of Dol Amroth to find a way to break the spell before the enemy accomplishes what Sauron could not, the talking of the White City and Middle earth with it. .

Everything had been transpiring as she had envisioned.

  


  


Ever since her father had told her of his intention to wed her   
off to the King of the Mark, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth had constructed with   
surprising precision the form and course of her escape. She had bided her time   
and given no inkling to anyone of what she had planned, determined that nothing   
would stand in her way when the time came for her scheme to move forward. 

  


  


For days since her arrival in Minas Tirith, Lothiriel had   
played the part of the frightened and timid daughter of Prince Imrahil in order   
to disarm those around her from what she intended to do. Her performance had   
been most convincing and now she was making her way across the Citadel away from   
the palace. In a short time, she would pass beyond the gates into the city. She   
would be free at last. Lothiriel should have been thrilled by this   
accomplishment. 

  


  


She should have been but she was not. 

  


  


Even as she widened the distance between herself and the   
palace, Lothiriel was not as pleased as she should have been. Dressed in the   
garb of a servant boy, her hair tucked neatly under a cap while all traces of   
her gender were concealed beneath plain, course material, she felt confused by   
what she had done. In one instance, she was grateful to escape her father’s   
tyranny in deciding whom she would marry but in another, she felt ashamed that   
she had broken faith with him by her flight. Defiantly, Lothiriel reminded   
herself that her father had broken faith with her first by forcing her to marry   
but the argument did not have its earlier potency.

  


  
This should not be hard, she told herself as she hastened   
her pace. The enclosure of stone surrounding the first level of hill upon which   
the Citadel was built was coming swiftly coming into sight. Once through its   
gates, she would be beyond her father’s reach. On this day, the gates that were   
normally sealed to all save invited guests were flung open for the celebration   
of the treaty. Revelers were already gathering in numbers in anticipations and   
Lothiriel would be able to lose herself within the crowds as she slipped through   
the gates.

  


  


Once into Minas Tirith, she could take advantage of the fanfare   
and slip out of the city to make her way westward to Isengard. It was within   
reach now and she should have been pleased by this fact but she was strangely   
subdued about her success. Unwillingly, her thoughts kept returning her to the   
King of the Mark as she considered with far more frequency then she liked, their   
encounter in the hall the night before. Lothiriel’s life had ensured that she   
did not have any suitors. In the beginning, there had been a few but she had   
little interest in them and when rumors of her past time has filtered through   
the nobility of Dol Amroth, they dwindled into nothingness. It was a situation   
that suited her well for she had never found any of the suitors to her   
liking.

  


  


And because none of them could meet her gaze and pierce her   
thoughts with a deep penetrating stare.

  


  


The amount of time she was devoting to that particular feature   
of the King of the Mark bothered Lothiriel more than she liked. She found   
herself thinking less of Isengard and more of the smile that assured her he   
would not force himself upon or the jest that tried to draw out her voice. He   
was nothing like what she had expected and what he was, she took in with some   
measure of pleasant surprise. She had expected a warmonger on horseback and   
received in turn, an almost shy and unassuming young man who was not quite as   
certain about the whole idea of marriage as she. It was nice to know that he   
looked upon their desired betrothal with as much trepidation.

  


_  
_

Oh No.

  


  


Lothiriel came to a startling realization when she looked up   
and saw the gates splayed wide open before her like the invitation of a lover.   
Was it possible she was falling for him? It cannot be! She cried out silently as   
she made her escape from the Citadel, hardly capable of exulting her freedom   
with such thoughts in her head. Yet with each step she took, she knew that she   
was not certain of anything. Perhaps she did not love him for though her heart   
was kindled with fire, it was still too new and uncertain to be interpreted as   
being something that permanent. Still there was the possibility it could be   
nurtured into something passionate. 

  


_  
_

I will not be drawn into this, Lothiriel told herself   
defiantly. She had made plans! Plans that she had harbored all her life when   
other maidens around her were making insipid wishes about being little more than   
breeding mares and a beautiful playthings for some lord who would only display   
them at important occasions. She had wanted to be more then that! Lothiriel   
stormed past the gates, crushing mercilessly the treasonous thoughts in her mind   
as she continued forward into the city. She had almost succeeded in this   
ruthless purging when a stray thought crossed her mind and made her groan in   
disgust with herself.

  


_  
_

The road to Isengard passes through Rohan.

  


  


Lothiriel was so furious for even thinking such a thing that   
she continued walking ahead, brushing past bodies without even noticing them,   
all the while rebuking herself for falling prey to a smile and a penetrating   
gaze. She did so until the bodies thinned and the light form the streets dimmed.   
When she finally paid notice as to where she was, Lothiriel found herself coming   
to a halt immediately. For a moment, a sliver of fear ran through her as she saw   
the lack of people about and the fact that she had taken a path that had led her   
away from the main body of revelers.

  


  


Where she had found herself was strangely quiet. Even the   
buildings were dark with only a faint light here and there to give any   
indication that there was life at all. She heard the snort of horses in the   
distance and something that sounded like voices. Anxious because she was lost   
and seeking out someone to help her find her way from this collection of   
seemingly empty buildings would mean exposing herself, Lothiriel debated what to   
do. The celebration was not long from beginning and if her father did not know   
she was missing yet, he would soon enough when she failed to appear as his   
escort for the night. 

  


  


Unfortunately, she had to leave the city as soon as possible   
and that meant having to find her way out of this maze of buildings. They seemed   
very unfamiliar to her and had the smell of freshly cut wood. As she skimmed the   
walls of one of the buildings, she could feel the splinters against the newly   
shaved surface. Whatever this construct was, it had been made only recently.   
Lothiriel stilled her fear and decided to find the voices if she could without   
revealing herself.

  


  


Like a moth drawn to the flame, she was similarly attracted to   
the light emanating from one of the buildings. It was one of the few that bore   
such illumination and it was close enough for her to discern that the voices she   
was hearing came from the open window that allowed the light to escape into the   
darkness. Crouching low, she moved as softly as she could manage and soon   
reached the base of the wall. She hoped to listen to the speakers enough to   
learn where she was. As she drew nearer, she could hear the voices sharpen in   
clarity and strained to listen closer.

  


  


For a moment, the language did not register immediately.

  


  


It was neither elvish, Westron nor even the language of the   
dwarfs. The only reason she knew it at all was because she studied the book of   
magic and had taught herself to understand the language of its authors and some   
of it was written in speech that was not all proper for her to know. It was   
Black Speech and it was not even the dialect spoken by the orcs of this day and   
age, no it had far more ancient tone to it. Her heart froze in her chest as well   
as the rest of her body and for a second, she dared not even breathe.

  


  


Who was it that resided in this dwelling that knew Black   
Speech, Lothiriel thought frantically.

  


  


She wanted to run away immediately. If she had any sense about   
her, she would have. However, her imperatives had altered significantly with the   
results of her eavesdropping. Knowing that it was folly but unable to stop   
herself, she raised herself just enough to peer over the edge of the   
windowsill.

  


  


Within the room before her was at least a dozen Easterlings.   
Though they were not dressed as fanciful as she had observed of Lord Ulfrain the   
night before, Lothiriel recognized them instantly by their appearance and by   
their clothes. Puzzlement immediately filled her mind. Why were they speaking   
Black Speech? She had not made much comment during the discussions the night   
before but she was certain the Easterling general had stated that the people of   
Far Harad and the Easterlings had their own language. 

  


  


"All is in readiness," one of them spoke. He seemed to be the   
leader and was addressing the others like he was deploying troops for attack. It   
would take Lothiriel a little longer than the immediate time to learn that he   
was in a way. "The spell has been cast," he continued to say. 

  


  


Spell?

  


  


Lothiriel’s thoughts flared immediately with interest. What   
spell? She was certain that it was not appropriate for the Easterlings to be   
spell casting within the city of King Elessar. 

  


  


"Then we should go," another declared. "I tire of this   
guise."

  


  


"As do we all," the leader retorted with understanding, "but it   
is almost over. We will have no need of any mask once we are done tonight."

  


  


"That pleases me," a third voice entered the discussion. "I do   
not like these Easterlings or these Haradrim. They are barbarians. It is no   
wonder that Morgoth’s underling was defeated with these primitives fighting his   
battles. They act without thought and their passion is misdirected and   
ultimately detrimental instead of an asset."

  


  


Morgoth’s underling? Lothiriel’s mind whirled at the   
description. Did he mean Sauron? Who were these men that they could call Sauron   
an underling of Morgoth? And as far as her eyes could tell, each man in the room   
having this dark discussion was Haradrim. Yet they spoke as if they were   
something else. But what?

  


  


"When we are done with our task tonight, we will deal with them   
as we will deal with the others," the leader declared firmly. "However, we need   
to go now. It is time to shed ourselves of this mask and don another."

  


  


In the amber light that filled the space of the room, Lothiriel   
saw the shadows shift and as her eyes widened in realization of what she was   
seeing, all thoughts of escape fled her mind. Like a stag caught in a hunter’s   
sights, she could do nothing for an instant as she was mesmerized with shock at   
what she had seen. Slowly, with more stealth then she knew herself capable of   
managing, she made a retreat from the building and hurried back the way she   
came, leaving it far behind her. 

  


There was no reason for her to find out which way to go in   
order to leave Minas Tirith because there was only one place she wanted to go at   
this moment and that was back to the Citadel and the White Tower. She had to   
tell her father what she had seen in that room. What the shadows and the soft   
light had revealed to her, what she to tell King Elessar and the rest of the   
Middle earth’s leaders.

  


  


She had to warn them all before it was too late.

  


  


**************

  


  


She did not think it would be so hard to let him go but it   
was.

  


  


Despite the event being more than an hour behind her, the time   
did not lessen the sting of their parting and she could not ignore the ache in   
the very pit of her that came from his loss. Yet there was nothing else for   
Arwen, Queen of Gondor to do but to let him go, to let her sweet babe escape the   
Citadel while it was still possible for him to do so. By now, Arwen was content   
with the knowledge that Nunaur was beyond the reach of Aragorn and the menace   
that had snared the mind of her beloved king. If he who was once march warden of   
Mirkwood and now of Eden Ardhon chose to move unseen through the Citadel, not   
even the burden of an infant and a human female would alter that fact. He was an   
elf after all and stealth was more than just ability but away of life for her   
people.

  


  


When it came to the life of her son however, Arwen was not   
prepared to rely simply upon Nunaur’s skills of evasion. With her companions at   
her side, the queen had ensured that the soldiers searching the grounds of the   
Citadel had more than just her son to occupy their attention. Remaining in the   
open, when she, Eowyn and Melia should be seeking concealment, the three women   
maintained the guise that they were attempting to escape the Citadel as the   
soldiers kept in close pursuit. So intent was the enemy on their capture, that   
attention seemed to have faded from the whereabouts of the crown prince. Arwen   
hoped that their subterfuge was enough to give Nunaur the advantage he needed to   
smuggle Eldarion and Ioreth out of Citadel. 

  


  
Even though their immediate course was obvious, Arwen had   
not considered what they would do beyond eluding capture and ensuring Eldarion   
was taken safely from the Citadel. While it was also obvious that they needed to   
save Aragorn and the rest of their loved ones from this dark enchantment, how   
this was to be achieved was not so easy to discern. With the king under their   
sway, the enemy had a great deal of power at their disposal and it was fast   
becoming clear to Arwen that she could not hope to reach Aragorn on either an   
emotional or a physical level. If Aragorn willed it, all of Gondor’s warriors   
would place themselves between himself and his queen, ensuring that Arwen would   
never reach him to break the spell that had taken his mind. 

  


  


However, if she could not reach Aragorn what other course was   
left to them?

  


  


The sensible thing to do would be to leave, to put as much   
distance between herself and Aragorn as possible. While she remained in the   
vicinity of the palace, she was in danger and Arwen no longer knew her husband   
to be able to judge what he would do to her, Eowyn or Melia if they were   
captured. Additionally, escaping the palace on this night would be a relatively   
easy matter. If this had transpired on any other night except this one, Arwen   
would not have held out hope that any of them could leave the city without   
considerable difficulty.

  


  


Fortunately, the shadow that had fallen over Aragorn and the   
other lords of Middle earth, appeared restrained momentarily by the celebration   
of the treaty. The people of Minas Tirith were being allowed through the eight   
of the gates that protected the White Tower within the Citadel. Celebration or   
not, the home of Aragorn Elessar would not tolerate intruders and because of   
this, Arwen knew that the orders to arrest her and her companions would not   
extend beyond the walls protected the palace. 

  


  


However, despite the logic that forced her to use this   
advantage, Arwen could not leave and she doubted she could convince Eowyn and   
Melia of the same even if she were so inclined, which she was not. The shadow   
that had fallen over the palace was an exercise in subterfuge that the enemy was   
careful not to squander. Whatever it was they desired to do, secrecy was their   
greatest desire. They could not seen to show their hand too soon by allowing   
Gondor to see how much the king’s character had altered by letting it known that   
Aragorn had ordered the arrest of his wife. It was this need that compelled her   
to stay. 

  


  


"Arwen watch out!" Arwen’s thought snapped back to the present   
when she heard Eowyn’s voice slice through her thoughts. The queen looked up to   
see an arrow surging towards her through the fading light of the sun. 

  


  


Dropping swiftly to her knees, the projectile sailed over her   
head and struck the stable wall. The arrowhead dug deep into the stone but not   
enough to remain there. Melia was at her side in seconds. The Easterling raised   
her crossbow and was sending forth a deadly barrage of iron bolts through the   
air towards the guards that were firing at them from the wall surrounding the   
palace, dead ahead. Melia’s aim seemed much lower than it ought to be and when   
the bolt struck, Arwen saw the soldier buckle to his knees in pain. The three   
women had tried their hardest not to kill any of the soldiers who pursued them   
though it was becoming increasingly harder to maintain that desire when their   
enemy did not seem as concerned.

  


  
"Come on," Eowyn declared as she wrapped her fist around   
Arwen’s arms and prompted her into a run. They had returned to the stable at   
Melia’s insistence. The Ranger had desired to retrieve her crossbow and since   
the stables were in the absolute opposite direction of the route Nunuar had   
taken to leave the palace, it seemed like a good idea. However, the stable were   
proving to have too many shadows and corners that was ripe for ambush for them   
to remain in its vicinity any longer. 

  


  


"We need to get into the palace," Arwen declared as they ran   
along the wall of the structure, barely escaping more archers as a barrage of   
arrows followed the path behind them. "It is too dangerous for us to remain out   
here in the open much longer."

  


  


"Into the palace?" Eowyn asked with some measure of urgency as   
well as puzzlement, "are you certain Arwen?"

  


  


"Yes," Arwen nodded. "They expect us to leave the Citadel and   
they commit themselves to prevent us from reaching that end."

  


  


"She is correct," Melia managed to say though she was panting   
slightly from all their exertions. "The enemy would expect Arwen to seek help   
beyond the gates of the Citadel. If it is Ulfrain who is responsible for all   
this, I do not think he would see us as much of a threat. We are after all   
women," she retorted with unconcealed disgust. He would think us capable of   
nothing beyond escaping and finding help."

  


  


"He does not think us strong enough to pose any threat to him,   
is that it?" Eowyn grasped what Melia was saying and felt a knot of disgust in   
her stomach at the presumption of the Easterling lord.

  


  


"More or less," Melia shrugged, knowing her race far too   
well.

  


  


"I do not think he will expect us to confront him," Arwen   
added, glancing over her shoulder and ensuring that they were following her   
closely and tracing her steps. As an elf, Arwen knew how to move about quietly   
then any human alive, save perhaps Estel. "If we take refuge inside the palace,   
it will give us a moment to think of a plan."

  


  


"I think a plan would be in very good order now," Eowyn   
retorted, disliking the pitch black darkness that Arwen had led them into. The   
barrage of bolts from Melia’s crossbow had bought them some time and Arwen had   
taken advantage of that, leading them behind the royal stables which was bathed   
in darkness for it was situated far away from the palace to avoid the stink of   
manure. 

  


  


"All I have in mind is to learn what they are up to," Arwen   
replied as they paused a moment, catching their breath even though the odor left   
something to be desired. Her elven sense recoiled at the stench and she knew   
that they were near the immense tunnel system that ran throughout the Citadel   
for the purpose of sewerage, leading to its outlet in the Anduin. 

  


  


"Beyond that," she met the gaze of her two companions, "I am at   
a loss."

  


  


"We need to break this spell they have over the king and   
Faramir," Eowyn declared hotly, hating it immensely when she was so helpless. It   
often took its toll upon her temper.

  


  


"We would all like nothing better," Melia declared.   
"Unfortunately, none of us know anything about spells or magic, so even if we   
_could_ reach one of them, there is little we could do to free them and the   
king in his present state of mind could have us executed. We could never get   
close enough to Aragorn in any case."

  


  


"We have to try something!" Eowyn hissed with exasperation,   
aiming a little hint of accusation at Melia. "We cannot simply remain here with   
our hands tied, scurrying about in the dark like frightened children."

  


  


"Until we have a plan that is precisely what we must do,"   
Melia’s own ire at the situation bubbled to the surface. "We must watch and   
wait," she replied, her Ranger instincts speaking in her stead now. 

  


  


Arwen could sense Eowyn’s distress and knew that the Lady of   
Ithilien’s anxiety was mostly for her husband. All of this had transpired so   
quickly and while Arwen’s elven senses had given her some forewarning to prepare   
her for the danger, it was not so for either Eowyn or Melia. They had been   
plunged into this without warning, with little time to comprehend that suddenly   
their husbands had become strangers with no feeling for them at all. Arwen could   
appreciate their anguish. She had never thought she could see anything as   
terrible as the indifferent look in Estel’s eyes when he ordered her out of the   
great hall as if she were nothing to him. It had cut wounds in her heart that   
Arwen knew she would not forget easily.

  


  


"Eowyn," Arwen placed a gentle hand on her best friend’s   
shoulder, " I feel as you do. I hate how they have been taken away from us but   
we must be patient. We must move cautiously. We have no idea what we are facing.   
I am not even certain that Ulfrain is the enemy."

  


  


"Who else can it be?" Eowyn asked, unable to believe that it   
was mere coincidence that the spell cast over Faramir and the rest of their   
friend would occur when the Easterlings were at court. 

  


  


"I do not know," Arwen shook her head, her senses paying   
careful attention to everything transpiring around her while they had this   
conversation. "I do not think that Ulfrain is capable of embarking on this   
deception alone. He did not give me the impression of having any particular   
skill of cunning."

  


  
"The only skill he _did_ have is arrogance," Eowyn   
snorted in clear agreement with the queen. "However, you are correct. An attack   
upon Gondor in this fashion is extremely dangerous, far too dangerous for   
Ulfrain to gamble the well being of his entire kingdom."

  


  


"Unless he was extremely certain that he was going to win,"   
Melia nodded in agreement. "Far Harad’s army despite the impressive display when   
marching into Gondor for the treaty, is in tatters. The Wainriders are destroyed   
and the rest of the Easterling races are in similar disarray. Those of the   
Sunlands have returned to their borders and the Corsairs do not even have a   
fleet after Pelargir. If Ulfrain has an ally in this, I would like to know   
who."

  


  


"Someone who is unknown to us," Arwen mused. "Someone new."

  


  


"I hate this," Eowyn sighed, still feeling the sting of the   
guard’s words when he had told her that it was Faramir who had issued the order   
for her arrest. In her mind, she knew that her husband and her love was not   
responsible, that he was made someone else’s puppet but it still hurt. "Give me   
an enemy I can fight, not this! I fear how far this has poisoned Faramir. If he   
was capable of issuing the order for my arrest, is he capable of bearing arms   
against me?"

  


  


"I do not think I want that question answered," Melia said   
softly as corresponding emotions regarding Legolas sprang forth inside of her.   
She could not imagine staring into her prince’s eyes and have him look at her   
with indifference. It stabbed too closely to her own fears about her mortality   
someday eroding away his love into obligation and weariness. 

  


  


"Be assured that it is a weapon they will use," Arwen retorted,   
sparing them nothing because she could ill afford to. Melia and Eowyn had to   
face the possibility just as she was forced to send their son away from his   
father because she could no longer be certain that Aragorn would not hurt the   
child. 

  


  


No one spoke for a moment but Arwen’s eyes were better in the   
dark than either Eowyn’s or Melia’s and she could see they were wrestling with   
difficult realizations in the anonymity of the shadows. It was hardest on Melia   
because she had already so many insecurities about her life with Legolas. At the   
core of the former Ranger, no matter how much she tried to ignore it was the   
fear that one day her elven husband would tire of the old woman she was destined   
to be and leave. Instances like this only serve to make Melia more conscious of   
the fragility of her life with him.

  


  


"We should not linger here too long," Eowyn broke the silence   
after a time. "It will not take them long to discover where we have gone. We   
should depart before they seek us out again."

  


  


"Yes," Melia nodded. "However, I do believe they will assume we   
are heading away from the palace not towards it."

  


  


"We should to maintain that guise for as long as it is   
possible," Eowyn agreed. "However that means remaining unseen when we enter the   
palace."

  


  


"With the celebrations about to begin, the palace is full of   
people," Melia reminded them, "getting past the guests and the servants will not   
be easy."

  


  


Arwen had a solution but it was not one she liked very much.   
"There is an alternate route into the palace, one were it is very unlikely we   
will encounter anyone." 

  


  


Eowyn noted the reluctance in the voice of the queen, despite   
the fact her revelation was to their advantage. "Then why do you sound so   
disagreeable about it?" She asked suspiciously.

  


  


Arwen let out a deep breath and told them. As anticipated, her   
answer did little to impress them but unfortunately, it was the only course left   
to them.

  


  


"Why is it every time I come to Gondor, I always end up going   
on some terrible escapade with you?" Eowyn complained at Arwen with accusation   
as they follow the disgusting odor to its source.

  


  


"Because you are a glutton for adventure," Arwen managed a   
little smile. "Think of all the things you have seen since being in my   
company."

  


  


"You elves have an odd concept of humor," Eowyn retorted. "One   
would think that beings that long lived would have got it right by now."

  


  


"We have sophisticated humor," Arwen declared, enjoying the   
banter a little because it took away from their present crises a little. "It is   
not our fault that you _children_ are not grown up enough to understand   
it."

  


  


"Says the elf who married a man who wanted to name their child   
after a hobbit’s pony, " Eowyn bit back.

  


  


Melia rolled her eyes and muttered, "oh just get in the   
accursed sewer the both of you."

  


  


************

  


  


So urgent was Lothiriel’s desire to return to the palace and   
warn her father and the king of what she had seen, she had barely thought to   
change out of her clothes when she hurried through the gates of the Citadel. The   
celebration had begun by the time she reached the gates that led to the inner   
sanctum of the Citadel where the White Tower resided. Her guise as a servant boy   
had proved to serve her well during her return journey for she was hardly   
accosted by anyone as she made her way through the body of revelers enjoying the   
sights and sounds in the street.

  


  


The people of Minas Tirith had turned out in all their numbers   
to enjoy the entertainment planned for the celebration. High above the sky,   
fireworks displays filled the canvas of night with luminous colors, drawing   
cries of astonishment and wonder from those who were watching avidly. Flowers of   
flame blossomed across the sky. They were followed by streaks of light that   
appeared like a rain of starlight falling to earth and great beasts soared   
briefly across the clouds before disappearing into nothingness of legend once   
again.

  


  


For those whose tastes for amusements exclude fireworks, there   
were other distractions. Jugglers performed in the street, keeping a loft in   
perpetual motion items such as balls, pins, small batons breathed in flame and   
even knives. There were fire-eaters swallowing their meals before amazed   
audiences and magicians who were devoid of any real power but delved in parlor   
tricks to add an air of wonder to the evening. There were tents scattered   
throughout the Citadel with more elaborate displays and though Lothiriel did not   
see these herself, she had heard talk of acrobats and performing animals. 

  


  


The air was moist with the scent of food from vendors parading   
through the streets, carrying their wares while the riotous banter of men on the   
mead was never distant from her ears. Lothiriel wished she did not have to bring   
the news of what she had discovered to the king because she did not desire to   
see this atmosphere of merriment brought to an end. Unfortunately, what she knew   
was too urgent for her to delay her passage to the palace even for a second.   


  


  


When she arrived at the gates that to the White Tower, she met   
immediate resistant from the guards who were stationed there regarding the   
notion of allowing her into its confines. However, she made her case earnestly   
and removing enough of her disguise for them to see her features and at the   
heart of them, they suspected that she was telling them the truth for she did   
appear to be of noble birth. It also helped that the gossip about the palace had   
inferred that the Lady Lothiriel of Dol Amroth was the beauty and not even the   
clothes of a servant boy could hide that fact from the guards when Lothiriel   
explained herself. After a reasonably lengthy plea for her case, they allowed   
her past them.

  


  


She was escorted immediately through the grounds into the   
palace where the celebration for the nobles was taking place. As she was led   
through across the High Court towards the White Tower, she noted that there were   
many guards about the place and the mood of celebration that had been so thick   
beyond the gates surrounding the palace was suddenly absent. If she did not know   
better, she would think that the atmosphere was somewhat somber and Lothiriel   
wondered if perhaps her news would not be such a surprise, that perhaps they   
already knew that there was danger.

  


  


Once into the palace, the atmosphere of tension dissipated   
slightly with the halls filled with household staff and servants, scurrying   
about like frantic ants for the preparation of the banquet that would be   
attended by the king’s guest. As she watched them going about their business,   
completely oblivious to all else around them, Lothiriel came to the conclusion   
that maybe what she knew was a secret after all. It was likely that the tension   
outside was merely that belonging to guards who were poised for trouble in the   
instance the celebration got out of hand with so many revelers beyond the   
gates.

  


  


She was led into the Great Hall where the king was seated on   
his throne. Her father was present, having been summoned once her whereabouts   
were reported to him by the guards. Also present were the other lords of Middle   
earth, including her cousin Faramir, who she knew very little since she had   
seldom visited the White City in the past. What did surprise was her was the   
presence of the Easterling lord, Ulfrain. What concern of it was his that she   
had fled from the palace? 

  


  


"Lothiriel," Imrahil spoke first when she was presented to   
them, "where have you been?"

  


  


"I took a walk," she stammered, afraid to tell him that she was   
running away. It would only make him angry and at the moment, the news she had   
to tell him was far too crucial for it to be mired by the circumstances of how   
she had happened upon it. "I wanted to see the rest of the celebration so I left   
the palace for awhile." Her excuse was weak and she knew it but Lothiriel did   
not care, she had to tell him what she had discovered.

  


  


"Dressed as a servant boy?" Aragorn remarked, the king’s gaze   
fixed upon her. 

  


  


"I thought it would be simpler to enjoy the walk if I was   
dressed as one of the common folk," Lothiriel explained. "Please listen to me,   
it does not matter why I left. I discovered something when I left the   
Citadel."

  


  


"I am afraid it does matter a great deal," Imrahil said   
sternly. "You are my daughter and I do not excuse your behavior. I do not   
believe for an instant that you departed for a mere ‘walk’. When I could not   
find you, I had your room searched. You took things with you that could only be   
justified if you did not intend to return."

  


  


"Father no," Lothiriel tried desperately to explain even though   
she knew that she was well and truly caught in the lie. She turned her gaze upon   
Eomer, hoping that he would aid her in some way. He had seemed so kind the night   
before, as if he truly cared. However, the King of the Mark stared back at her   
with puzzlement at what she would have him do. His lack of feeling for her   
plight shook her and it was at this point, she really began to notice them.

  


  


The benefit of being a stranger to Minas Tirith was being able   
to view these lords objectively and though she did not know them well enough to   
be any judge of their character, she knew that they were men of warmth and   
camaraderie. During the two encounters where she had been present at the table   
with them, she noted the depth of feeling they had for their wives and for each   
other. It radiated from their eyes like beacons. 

  


  


She remembered Aragorn’s good humored personality, so far   
removed from the cold ruthlessness of Denethor, to the dwarf lord’s crusty words   
that were always laced with affection to those around him. The elven lord   
Legolas, like all elves, appeared aloof at times but there was nothing distanced   
about the way he spoke to his friends and his wife. Her cousin Faramir whom she   
met only a number of times in her life was more reserved, he liked to listen and   
possessed a wry sort of wit that spoke of mischief particularly when directed at   
the lady Eowyn. As for Eomer, she was not so clear but she did know that when   
she stared into his eyes, she felt herself being cut to the bone by the power of   
his gaze. 

  


  


Not any more. 

  


  


She saw nothing in his eyes but the black of oblivion and it   
was not just him, it was _all_ of them., her father, the king and her   
cousin. All of them.

  


  


"Tell me Elessar," Ulfrain spoke up with a smile, "are all   
women here such a handful?"

  


  


"Our discipline it appears is severely lacking," Aragorn   
drawled smoothly, his gazed fixed upon Lothiriel as if she were a badly behaved   
pet.

  


  


"Father, please," Lothiriel ignored them and pleaded with her   
father to listen to what she had to say, "I saw something. I have to tell   
you!"

  


  
"I did not give you leave to speak," Imrahil said   
viciously. "You have embarrassed me before my king and the lords of Middle   
earth! You would do well to remain silent or I might just forget that you are my   
child."

  


  


The words stunned her into silence and she swept her gaze   
across the room and saw that Imrahil’s words was met with approval by the rest   
of the gallery. Her mind whirled in confusion, unable to understand how this   
could be. She had been present when Legolas had staunchly defended the lady   
Melia to Ulfrain the night before. He had called the behavior of the Easterlings   
towards their women, cruel. Such a radical shift of character was not possible   
over night, not unless something else inspired.

  


  


"What has happened here?" She found herself asking out loud   
before wisdom allowed her to think better of it.

  


  


"What has happened is that I have willful child who cannot obey   
her father!" Imrahil barked back.

  


  


"You are not my father," Lothriel stared at him. "My father   
would be angry but he would not simply silence me when I attempt to speak of   
something important."

  


  


"Not your father?" Imrahil laughed but Lothiriel caught sight   
of the glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. "You only wish that because you have   
provoked my severest displeasure."

  


  


"If you were my father," Lothriel challenged with more courage   
than she thought herself capable of possessing, "or if you were my king," she   
turned her eye upon Aragorn, "you would be more concerned with hearing my news   
then silencing me."

  


"What news do you have child?" Aragorn asked, picking up the   
verbal gauntlet the child had cast down before him 

  


  


Lothiriel told him and expected to see fear in his eyes but   
once again there was nothing. He did not even blink at the news. 

  


  


"You are certain of this?" Aragorn looked at her hard.

  


  


"Yes," she nodded. "I saw them. They will be able to breach the   
White Tower with very little resistance unless you do something now."

  


  


"Do not presume to tell the King of Gondor what he ought to do   
daughter," Imrahil snapped, wrapping his hand around her arm.

  


  
"But he must!" She cried out desperately, "they are coming!   
Are you not concerned?" Lothriel demanded of Aragorn before realizing something   
else.

  


  


"You are not concerned are you?" The words escaped her in a   
whisper as understanding finally dawned upon her. "You know. You know all about   
them."

  


  


Aragorn did not answer her but spoke directly to Imrahil, "I   
think your daughter needs discipline for her behavior. It would be best if she   
did not attend the festivities tonight. I will not her embarrass you or the   
court of Gondor any further."

  


  


"Father!" Lothiriel stared at Imrahil in desperation as   
Aragorn’s words sealed her fate.

  


  


"As you wish Sire," Imrahil nodded. "I will have her confined   
to her room."

  


  


"I think that would be an ill advised idea," Ulfrain added his   
voice, a little smile of pleasure crossing his face as he spoke, "she has   
already proved capable of breaking confinement at will. I think something a   
little more drastic is required."

  


  


"I agree," Aragorn nodded and Lothiriel could not believe the   
unreality of the situation as they spoke about her as if she was not even in the   
room. "Imrahil, I think we should place your daughter in the dungeon until   
tomorrow."

  


  


"No!" Lothiriel exclaimed horrified by the mere suggestion. "I   
have done nothing that warrants such action! What is the matter with all of   
you!"

  


  


"You will not speak to the king in that manner!" Imrahil hissed   
and lashing out with a balled fist. 

  


  


The blow struck her on the cheek and was more shocking then it   
was painful. Her eyes became wide with astonishment as she clutched her cheek   
flaring with pain. In her entire life, Lothiriel had never seen her father raise   
his hand to her or her brothers. Tears pooled in her eyes despite herself   
because she had no wish for any of them to see her weep. Even in these terrible   
circumstances, she had too much pride for that. 

  


  


"Father, do not do this," she begged as he began to pull her   
out of the room. "I know you are not yourself! None of you are! Something has   
done this to all of you!"

  


  


However, no one was listening, Imrahil most of all. 

  


Lothiriel broke away from his grip and ran to Eomer, clinging   
desperately to the hope that he might still remember something of the feeling he   
had shown to her the night before. 

  


  
"Lord Eomer," she pleaded coming to him, "you promised me   
you would never see anything done to me against my will. Please help me now."   


  


  


Lothiriel placed her hand against his cheek, hoping that he   
would react to her touch because last night, despite how much she may loathed to   
admit it, she had felt something for him, something that was so unexpected she   
had scarcely believe the emotion could come from inside her. Lothiriel also knew   
that she was not alone, that in those few moments she had seen his heart and   
knew that he cared.

  


  


For a brief second, she saw something surface, a flicker of   
familiarity that sparked hope inside her. However, its existence was brief and   
it was soon crushed under the weight of all that blackness again. Still staring   
at her as if she was nothing to him, Eomer removed her hand from his face and   
spoke, not to her but to her father.

  


  


"Your daughter needs help Imrahil," he said tonelessly. "I   
think you should give her all the help she needs."

  


  


Lothiriel dropped her gaze to the floor in disappointment,   
feeling the anguish bubble inside her heart as she felt Imrahil’s grip upon her   
once more, dragging her away from Eomer and being unable to believe how much it   
hurt thinking that he did not care.

  


  


************

  


  


 

  


"I shall never forgive you for this," Eowyn grumbled as they   
walked along the edge of a slimy walkway within the dark tunnels beneath the   
Citadel. 

  


  


When they had lowered themselves into the cavernous passage,   
they had produced a makeshift torch to light their way forward. The flame   
allowed them to see ahead although none of the company were at all grateful for   
this fact. The walls glistened with slime, dirt and filth that none of the women   
were eager to identify too closely. The walkway was slippery with similar grime   
and it took required some skill to travel across it without slipping into the   
murky canal running next to it. The dark water bubbled on occasion and none of   
them wanted to think what kind of life would inhabit such a disgusting bog.

  


  


The stench alone was overpowering and because the floors were   
so dangerous to traverse, their journey was painfully slow. On occasion they   
would hear the screech of rats or see something crawling across the wall that   
made them flinch. Dragons and drakes were one thing but tiny, crawling insects   
had the power to make even the bravest of them shriek in revulsion. 

  


  


"Do you think this is my first choice?" Arwen retorted just as   
tersely. "You are not the one with elvish senses, I can smell everything in this   
place far better then you can."

  


  


The queen was leading the way because she had better eye sight   
then all of them. However, she was uneasy about being enclosed all around for   
she was an elf and her race was not partial to any place that would keep the   
stars from their sight for lengths of time. The passageway seemed endless and   
were broken intermittently by the grates on the ceiling. During these occasions,   
they remained very silent, listening carefully for movement above for it was   
imperative that they remained unseen.

  


  


"For once I am grateful to be mortal," Melia commented with   
similar distaste. While she was not an elf, she was a Ranger and like all her   
kind, she preferred the outdoors herself to the gritty substance of urban   
living. "As much as I dislike our present location, this is the safest and most   
covert way to enter the palace. Your choice was wise Arwen."

  


  


"Yes it was," Eowyn admitted begrudgingly. "I do not fault your   
choice, just the situation."

  


  


"The situation is indeed dire," Melia had to agree, shunting   
aside thoughts of Legolas as someone else’ creature for it would only hinder her   
spirit. "I wish Pallando were here. The Istar would have this spell broken in a   
minute."

  


  


"Unfortunately, Pallando is many days if not weeks away," Arwen   
replied. "We cannot wait for him to help us."

  


  


"Do you know anything about spells?" Eowyn asked. She found   
that elves had amazing skills in their possession. She supposed that one had to   
fill one’s time with all manner of things when one lived that long.

  


  


"Not really," Arwen confessed, wishing she did. "I know how to   
call upon the power of my people to aid me in times of crisis but spell lore was   
not something I sought to learn. My father had skill in such matters but I think   
what he learnt, he did so mostly to protect our people from Sauron. If we had   
need for such craft, we would simply turn to Mithrandir for assistance."

  


  


"The Grey Pilgrim," Eowyn nodded. "My brother liked him a great   
deal."

  


  


"There was no greater Istar than Mithrandir," Arwen said sadly,   
suddenly missing the old man a great deal. Mithrandir had been a great friend to   
her father and to both herself and Estel through the darkest of times and the   
best of them. "I miss him terribly."

  


  


"So we are alone in finding out how to deal with this," Melia   
commented, returning their thoughts to their present predicament. 

  


  


"It would appear so," Arwen nodded. "The difficulty with   
breaking spells is that more often than not, you need to know the exact one to   
be able to counteract it."

  


  


"I do not think Ulfrain will be forthcoming with that   
information," Eowyn retorted. 

  


  


"Maybe it is not Ulfrain we should ask," Melia suggested as   
they came to the fork in the tunnel and followed Arwen as she chose which one   
they should take.

  


  


"You mean Akallabeth?" Eowyn looked over her shoulder at   
her.

  


  


"Why not?" Melia replied. "She may not be as cowered by her   
husband as we think."

  


  


"No," Arwen said firmly. "We will not ask her. I do not quite   
know what to make of her yet and until we do, I would not look to her for   
help."

  


  


"What do you not think she will aid us?" Melia asked   
puzzled.

  


  


"It is simply best that we do not," Arwen replied, recalling   
the uneasy sensation she experienced being around the Haradrim queen. "I sense   
something odd from her, something I cannot define clearly and it is unwise to   
approach her when we are so uncertain of her." 

  


  


"So what do we do once we enter the palace?" Eowyn inquired,   
frowning at the carcass of a dead rodent floating past her. 

  


  


"I am not sure," Arwen admitted, wishing she had more answers   
for her friends. "We need to find one of the men, to see if anything can be done   
about breaking the enchantment."

  


  


"That will not be easy to do," Melia replied. "I do not think   
we will be able to remove them against their will and enchantment or not,   
catching Legolas unawares will be next to impossible."

  


  


"We will never get close enough to either Aragorn or Faramir,   
Arwen," Eowyn offered grimly. "The king and the ruling steward are too valuable   
to the enemy, they would hurl everything at us to prevent us from reaching   
either."

  


  


Eowyn was still awaiting an answer from Arwen when she was   
suddenly overcome with inspiration. "Eomer," she exclaimed with excitement. "If   
we cannot reach the king or Faramir and if Legolas is too difficult to catch   
unawares, then it is Eomer we must attempt to approach."

  


  


"Eomer," Melia mused, considering the suggestion and found that   
if they were going to embark on such a dangerous course then it was Eomer that   
they offered them the best chance of success. "I think you are right. They may   
not expect us to reach him. After all, the logical course would be for us to   
make an attempt for our husbands not a brother, especially in the mind of   
Ulfrain who believes women are beholding to their men."

  


  


"If there is any way to reach them emotionally then Eomer would   
be our best alternative because he is my brother. Our affection for one another   
is far older and deeper than any other here. He was my brother before he was   
King of the Mark, before my love for Faramir even."

  


  


"You have convinced me," Arwen declared, grateful to have some   
way to strike even though she was uncertain how successful they were going to be   
in attempting to break this spell. Still, this course was better than lingering   
in helplessness. "We must wait until the banquet begins, when all the guests   
have arrived."

  


  


"I wonder how they intend to explain our disappearance," Melia   
remarked as they neared a junction in the tunnels. "The absence of the queen   
would go unnoticed surely."

  


  


"I wondered about that myself," Arwen replied taking the   
correct fork in the tunnel. Ahead, they could see a beam of light filtering   
through the roof. The stench of refuse had begun to wane a little and tinged   
with the aroma of food cooking. "This whole thing puzzles me."

  


  


Arwen did not answer for they were soon at their destination.   
Beneath the beam of light was a ladder leading through a narrow tunnel through   
the roof. At the end of it was an iron grate that would no doubt lead to a floor   
somewhere in the palace. Neither Eowyn or Melia questioned how Arwen knew this   
intricate network of tunnels beneath the palace but supposed after all the   
dangers the queen had endured since taking up residence, it was probably   
sensible that she knew alternate means of escape in case of danger. 

  


  
"Where does this go?" Melia asked as Arwen slung her sword   
over her back and began to climb up the ladder.

  


  


"With any luck, into the kitchen," Arwen answered with a grunt   
as she placed her hands on the filthy rungs and pulled herself up. 

  


  


"We will be seen!" Eowyn returned but followed the queen   
nonetheless. 

  


  


"I am hoping that they will be too busy with the preparations   
for the banquet to notice," Arwen replied as she ascended into the tunnel within   
the ceiling. 

  


  


"You hope," Melia grumbled disliking the tenuous nature of   
their plan. Unfortunately, they had no other alternative.."

  


  
"Hope has nothing to do with this," Arwen said softly,   
"only luck."

  


  


None of them could disagree.

  


  


**********

  


  


 

  


Lothiriel had pleaded her case with her father until her throat   
was dry. She had continued to do so even after she had been seen out of the   
king’s presence by her father and given to guards to be escorted to the   
dungeons. She did not even know that the palace had dungeons to begin with   
although she was in no hurry to have this particular mystery satisfied.   
Lothiriel had tried earnestly to convince the guards leading her through the   
White Tower that the king and all the lords of Middle earth had been subjugated   
by some strange power but none would believe her. If anything, they seemed to   
regard her pleas as some fanciful tale conjured by a bored aristocrat. 

  


  


She hated being so helpless and incapable of being of any help   
to those she loved. She thought of her father and remembered the stinging pain   
of her cheek thanks to the blow he had delivered to her. In his right mind, he   
would be horrified by his behavior because he was not a man who was   
intentionally unkind. Like all rulers, he had to be hard at times. One could not   
sit in authority and preside over the lives of so many by being weak and for so   
many years, Dol Amroth faced the same threats as Gondor from the evil of Mordor   
and its Easterling allies. Somehow, she could not be allowed to languish in a   
dungeon when the threat of what she knew still remained. 

  


  


As Lothiriel was marched down the corridor with guards flanking   
her on either side, she considered what to do. She had to find the queen!   
Lothiriel remembered Arwen’s kindness and knew that an elf of her age would know   
what to do. There was the possibility that Arwen’s mind could have been   
similarly tainted as her king’s but it was the only plan that Lothriel had in   
mind. Unfortunately, while she remained in the custody of these men, she was no   
good to anyone.

  


  


There was only one thing to do. She had to escape.

  


  


She thought furiously the spells that she had conjured up in   
the past and was filled with a sense of chagrin at the memory of how none of   
them had worked. When she asked for snow, it rained. When she asked for a flower   
to blossom, the entire household staff fell asleep. She knew she had power to   
conjure and though it was nothing of the kind practiced by the Istari, it was   
also unfocussed and notoriously unreliable. Lothriel shook these thoughts out of   
her mind and forced herself to focus because she had to succeed in freeing   
herself. 

  


  


She opted for the simplest spell possible. It was one that   
would allow the men marching her to the dungeon to fall asleep. She did not want   
to hurt anyone and she did not trust herself to attempt anything more complex.   
Lothriel was not blind to her lack of skill. Closing her eyes, she chanted the   
words softly, hoping for the best or in this case, for sleep. 

  


  


For a few seconds, nothing happened. She knew that something   
was happening because she could feel the flutter through her that signaled her   
invocation was taking some measure of shape. However, there was no sign of   
drowsiness in any of the men surrounding her. Her lack of success suffused her   
being with anger and she hissed the words with more venom then intended.

  


  


Suddenly, the soldiers beside her doubled over in what appeared   
to be pain. Lothiriel felt her heart sink, realizing that she had done something   
terrible to them that would require her discovering how to undo it. However,   
when they dropped to their knees, clutching their stomachs and coughing loudly,   
it was soon clear that they were not in pain at all, rather in a state of   
extreme nausea. She could only stare wide eyed as they began retching at her   
feet, prompting the young woman to break away from them. For a brief instant,   
Lothriel did nothing but stare in dazed astonishment at what she had done as the   
men began emptying the contents of their stomach in rather disgusting fashion.   


  


  


Well it was not sleep but it would do, she supposed.

  


  


Once she regained her sense, Lothiriel chose to take advantage   
of the spell she had cast and hurried down the hall, leaving behind her the   
soldiers who had larger concerns then her departure at the moment. She did not   
know where she was going as she put greater distance between herself and her   
captors, turning corners and running down darkened hallways away from the   
corridors that were filled with servants and other occupants of the palace. She   
was near the kitchen when she turned a corner and ran straight into someone   
else. The young woman fell promptly unto her rear. 

  


  


"Lothiriel!" Lothiriel looked up at the voice uttering her name   
and saw the queen of Gondor staring at her. 

  


  


"Your highness!" Lothiriel was just as amazed as she saw the   
queen standing before her, dressed in breeches and bearing a sword at her hip.   
Next to her, the lady Eowyn and Melia were in similar state of dress. 

  


  
"What are you doing dressed like that?" Eowyn asked staring   
at Lothiriel’s own garments.

  


  


"I can guess," Melia retorted before she was able to answer.   


  


  


"Let her speak," Arwen gave them both a look and helped the   
girl to her feet. "What are you doing Lothiriel? It is not safe to wander about   
the palace at this time. Something terrible is happening."

  


  
"I know!" Lothiriel exclaimed, feeling her entire soul   
filled with a sense of relief because it appeared that the queen was perfectly   
aware of what was happening with the king and the rest of the men. "You know   
about the king? He is under some kind of enchantment I am certain, they are   
nothing like themselves."

  


  
"Yes," Arwen nodded, trying to calm the girl down as she   
ranted her story. "We know. The king ordered us to be taken under custody."

  


  


"He told my father to put me in a dungeon!" Lothriel declared,   
grateful that she was not alone in this nightmare. "He would not even listen to   
what I had to say and when I finally convinced him to listen, he did not even   
care!" 

  


  


"What you had to say?" Arwen’s brow arched in confusion. "What   
do you mean?"

  


  


Lothiriel took a deep breath and knew she had to reveal what   
she had been doing when she stumbled upon the Easterlings. Fortunately, it did   
not appear as if they were very surprised when she told them her story, at least   
until she had wandered unwittingly into the Easterling barracks that is. In   
anything, the lady Melia seemed to expect it. 

  


  


"I saw them," she said breathlessly, "they did not know I was   
there but I saw them."

  


  


"What did you see?" Eowyn asked feeling this dreadful sense of   
foreboding knotting up her insides with each word Lothiriel spoke. 

  


  


"The Easterlings," Lothiriel replied. "They are not Easterlings   
at all. They are shape shifters."

  



	6. Chapter Five: The Face of the Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of a signing a historic treaty with the Easterlings that will ensure peace, Aragorn and the other leaders of Middle earth find themselves trapped by a spell that bends their will to the purpose of the beautiful Easterling queen. As enemy troops began to move into Minas Tirith, it is up to Arwen, Eowyn and the newly arrived Lothiriel of Dol Amroth to find a way to break the spell before the enemy accomplishes what Sauron could not, the talking of the White City and Middle earth with it. .

The three women stood in stony silence, allowing the words to   
sink into their consciousness despite the desperate hope that what Lothiriel   
claimed, was untrue. However, now that they were forced to accept what the young   
lady of Dol Amroth had revealed to be the truth, none could deny that finally,   
the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. The picture that they were now   
presented with at the unmasking of their enemy was one that made perfect sense.   
Unfortunately, knowing the identity of their opponent served only to drive home   
the magnitude of their predicament. 

  


  


For an eternity of time, which in true reckoning was but a few   
seconds, the thoughts of each woman tumbled backwards into the events of the   
recent past. While their perspective may have differed, their memories of what   
had transpired before and how it had evolved in their present dilemma was more   
or less the same.

  


  


It was more than a year since the triumvirate had come together   
to battle the enemy at Nargothrond, the great dragon Glaurung. The beast known   
as the father of all dragons or Urloki, as they were once known, had been hiding   
in what remained of Nargothrond following the sinking of Beleriand following the   
War of the Wrath. Somehow, the underground city of Nargothrond, constructed by   
the Noldor elves as the central hub for a series of connecting caverns beneath   
the earth, had survive the collapse of Beleriand into the sea. Prior to the   
catastrophe, Glaurung had breached the walls of Nargothrond and it was from this   
ancient fortress, that he conspired to resurrect the evil lord Morgoth. 

  


  


To this end, he had sought to use Arwen's unborn child to give   
his master form in the present world, to infuse Morgoth’s dark spirit into the   
infant while it slumbered in the womb. In a race against time to see that this   
did not come to pass, Arwen and Eowyn had set out from Minas Tirith determined   
to reach Glaurung before the babe born from her became the incarnation of Middle   
earth’s greatest foe. It was during this quest that they had encountered Melia,   
who was a Ranger of Angmar. 

  


  


Following the War of the Ring, Aragorn decided that even if   
they were not all Dunedain, the Rangers were an important component of   
maintaining stability in his kingdom. Warriors who knew how to defend   
themselves, with a keen eye for trouble and an inherent desire to fight for the   
good of all were inducted into the service of the king and given the appellation   
of Ranger in homage to those who had battled Sauron for so long. In much the   
same way as the Dunedain before them, the new Rangers traveled the wilds of   
Middle earth, keeping their eyes open and ensuring that the king was provided   
with accurate intelligence of what was transpiring in his kingdom.

  


  


Melia had elected to join them in their quest because as a   
Ranger, her duty to the king compelled her to protect the queen as well and it   
was during the last leg of this journey, that they first encountered the   
shapeshifters. Shape shifters of skin changers as they were sometimes known were   
creatures thought to have been the creation of Morgoth during the First Age.   
Like the dragons and the Balrogs, the skin changers had emerged from Angband   
long before the Maia Arien guided Laurelin’s fruit to the stars to give birth to   
the first rays of sunlight upon Middle earth. 

  


  


The skin changers, posing as Melia during their journey through   
the catacomb like tunnels to Nargothrond, were able to overcome the three women   
and bring them to their master Glaurung. If it were not for the timely arrival   
of the Fellowship led by Aragorn who was determined that Arwen would not face   
this peril without his presence, Glaurung’s dark plan would have come to pass.   
Following the battle erupted after the Fellowship had arrived, it was believed   
that the shape shifters had been destroyed along with Glaurung when Arwen called   
upon the powers of the Valar, Lord Ulmo to crumble the walls of Nargothrond.   
Barely escaping the destruction of Beleriand’s last stronghold, Arwen had had   
correctly assumed that the skin changers were buried under the sea along with   
their master.

  


  


However, there was never a true accounting of how many of the   
shadow things there were to begin with and since it was possible for them to   
assume any form, it was equally reasonable to believe that they could have   
escaped Nargothrond. Under the guidance of Glaurung and Morgoth, they were   
formidable enough enemies but unleashed to their own devices? Arwen did not even   
want to think about how much mischief they could cause.

  


  


"They were destroyed," Melia broke the silence by stating the   
obvious that none of them now believed to be true, "when Nargothrond fell to the   
sea, they were destroyed."

  


  


"We were never certain of that," Eowyn answered as if all the   
breath had left her body. There was no doubt in her mind that what Lothiriel had   
seen was indeed skin changers. Everything that was happening in Minas Tirith and   
with their husbands could be explained when one knew what they were dealing   
with. The skin changer that traveled with them to Nargothrond had roused no   
suspicions until it was too late. If the beast could assume Melia’s form so   
easily, there was no reason to think that it could not do the same for Aragorn   
or worse yet, Faramir. During the battle where Glaurung was defeated, they had   
attempted to deceive her by using that very disguise and until he had spoken,   
Eowyn had though it was her husband fighting at her side.

  


  


"You have encountered these creatures before?" Lothiriel stared   
at them with shock realizing that her revelation was not as much as a surprise   
as she thought it would be. Lothiriel knew what skin changers were, the hero   
Beorn was said to a skin changer but there were also other forms of skin   
changers. However, what information existed on these creatures were so steeped   
in folklore that there was some doubt to whether or not they truly existed. If   
Lothiriel had not seen them for herself, she would have found her story rather   
incredulous. Unfortunately, what she had seen was real and what was more, the   
queen and her companions knew it. 

  


  


"Yes," Arwen nodded, trying to compose her thoughts after   
Lothiriel’s revelation although the situation was better understood now they   
knew their enemy. "During the celebration when news of Eldarion’s impending   
birth was announced, I learnt of a plot to bring him harm. Lady Eowyn and I   
traveled to the Blue Mountains and encountered an ancient evil to whom these   
creatures were in service. We brought an end to their master and we hoped that   
it would see their demise as well but it appears we were wrong."

  


  


"They must have escaped Nargothrond," Melia ventured a guess.   
"After we were away, they must have escaped through the tunnels the same way we   
did or perhaps even with us. With their ability to mask their true natures, it   
would have been easy to do so without our notice."

  


  


As much as Arwen could have liked to discuss the situation in   
the hopes of formulating a new strategy now that they knew what they were up   
against, there was little time to do so for her thoughts immediately sensed   
danger. Her eyes shifted swiftly to the corridor from which Lothiriel had   
appeared and knew that they would have company even before the sounds of the   
first footsteps were heard. 

  


  


"They’re coming!" The words leaving her felt like a whisper but   
to everyone else, it was a shout. 

  


  


The guards appeared around the corner, a handful of them   
pausing in surprise to find not one woman but four. Hands dropped immediately to   
their weapons for it was no longer the matter of retrieving a frightened girl   
but rather three very adept warriors who had seen almost as much battle as any   
soldier present. 

  


  


"RUN!" Eowyn shouted, her cry of warning corresponding with the   
sound of one of the soldiers ordering them to halt. 

  


  


Arwen wrapped her hand around Lothiriel who was only capable of   
gasping in fear and started running, dragging the young woman along the stone   
corridor as the Gondorian troops began their pursuit. Lothiriel allowed herself   
to be led, too frightened to do anything but adhere to the guidance of those   
wiser than her. Eowyn drew her sword but it was Melia who held her ground   
because she was in the best position to cover their retreat. The former Ranger   
armed her crossbow swiftly and wasted no more than a splinter of time before   
releasing the first steel bolt at their pursuers, giving her companions the time   
required to gain some distance in their flight.

  


  


"Go!" She ordered Eowyn who cast an anxious glance of concern   
at the Ranger but knew that this was not the time to linger when the enemy was   
approaching so quickly. Without saying anything further, the lady of Ithilien   
continued down the narrow passageway.

  


  


The first bolt that escaped Melia’s crossbow struck the wall,   
narrowly missing the lead guard though intentionally so. Melia had no wish to   
kill any one for these soldiers who were only following the orders of their   
king, unaware that he had been ensnared by a spell. They were certainly not the   
enemy. The sight of steel digging into stone abated their determination to give   
chase slightly as they paused briefly to reassess the manner in which they gave   
pursuit. 

  


  


Unfortunately as much as Melia did not want to harm any of   
them, she knew that it would require a stronger incentive than a warning shot to   
convince them to desist in their chase. Arming the crossbow once more, she   
released a second and third bolt, striking flesh instead of stone. The duo   
leading the guards crumpled to their feet for she had continued to aim low,   
injuring their legs instead of their torsos which could result in fatal wounds.   
They toppled to the ground, their bodies offering sufficient obstacle to the   
others behind them when they fell.

  


  


"Melia! Come on!" Eowyn had paused long enough to call out,   
refusing to leave the Easterling behind.

  


  
Melia wasted no time heeding that demand and immediately   
lowered her weapon to join their friends in their hasty departure. No doubt the   
commotion they were causing would bring the rest of the palace guard in good   
time and the secrecy that they desired to move about the place was almost   
certainly impossible now. As if to confirm her fears, she could hear the   
footsteps of another contingent of guards approaching from down the hall even as   
she had discouraged one away. Voices began to fill the passageway indicating   
that their presence was being announced to those who did not already know they   
were there. 

  


  
Looking over her shoulder as they entered a larger corridor   
with smaller passages emptying into it, Melia knew they could not maintain their   
freedom in such closed surroundings. There were too many servants in the   
hallways acting as obstacles to their flight. Their unpredictable reaction to   
the ongoing chase was making it hazardous for all parties concerned and   
exhausting Melia in the effort to ensure no innocents came to harm in the   
crossfire of their battle. 

  


  
Appearing on the heels of these frantic thoughts were more   
guards who were shouting at her to stop, making claims that neither her nor her   
friends would come to harm if they surrendered now. For obvious reasons, Melia   
knew that was a promise they could not keep. The guards were merely soldiers and   
the safety they promised would last as long as it took for Arwen, Eowyn,   
Lothiriel and herself to be delivered to the king. 

  


  


For the moment, the nature of the long bow and her own crossbow   
made it easier for her to shoot at them then it was for them to retaliate.   
Unfortunately, what they lacked in their inability to attack, they gained in   
their large numbers and in the final analysis, her supply of bolts was finite.   
It was entirely possible than in a matter of minutes; they could flood every   
hallway in the palace with so many soldiers that it would be impossible for her   
or her friends to remain at large. 

  


  


"We have to get out of sight!" Melia shouted ahead, uncertain   
of whether or not Arwen could hear her as they raced up another corridor in the   
servant’s quarters. 

  


  


It did not take long for Melia to realize that Arwen was   
leading them towards a stairway at the end of the hall which suited the Ranger   
well for they needed to leave this section of the palace before more soldiers   
arrived and overwhelmed them by sheer numbers. Arwen was clearing the way before   
her with her sword, while somehow ensuring that Lothiriel remained close at   
hand. She was determined to see that the young woman from Dol Amroth did not   
fall behind or through the chaos of their present circumstances be left behind.   
Among them, Lothiriel was the least capable of protecting herself and her older   
companions felt a wave of protectiveness towards the girl. 

  


  


Thankfully, they reached the entrance to the stairway,   
illuminated by the window on its ceiling. It was narrow and spiraled in a   
corkscrew direction, ensuring that only one person could proceed at a time.   
Arwen entered the path of the winding staircase, ensuring that Lothiriel   
followed her directly. Eowyn remained behind them both, leaving Melia to guard   
their rear for she was best able to do so with her crossbow. For the moment,   
they seemed to have lost sight of the guards but the company could hear their   
eminent approach clearly.

  


  


What transpired next at the intersection of the corridor was   
the one thing Melia prayed would not happen. 

  


  


"Mia," his silken voice brushed against her ear like a soft   
breath, bringing her race to staircase to an utter and complete half, almost   
against her will.

  


  


Melia froze in her steps and found herself compelled to turn   
around slowly. Fighting her instincts for self-preservation, Melia knew that if   
it were anyone else, she would not have been caught in this manner but not even   
a Ranger as experienced as she could avoid detection by an elf of his skill. But   
it was not merely his elven heritage that allowed him to find her, she was his   
mate and the bond that had been forged from their first coupling was forever. It   
would last beyond her death and follow him for the rest of his life. How could   
she think that he would not be able to find her when he would feel her even when   
she was dead? 

  


  


"Prince," she found herself saying the crossbow that had been   
raised to shoot began to lower as he stood before her. When they faced each   
other like this, it was impossible for Melia to think that a spell could steal   
him away from her. She loved him beyond reason, despite all the tragedy that   
awaited them in the years ahead. All of it made worthwhile by the knowledge that   
he loved her just as dearly and would never hurt her. 

  


  


Until now.

  


  


"What are you doing?" Legolas Greenleaf demanded as he   
approached her, his expression filled with concern and worry. Taking a step   
towards her, he seemed shocked when he saw her retreating backward with her   
crossbow raised once again, this time aimed firmly at him again in a clear   
warning to desist. 

  


  


"What am _I_ doing?" She demanded fighting the doubt that   
was filling her thoughts. "What you and the king are doing would be a more   
appropriate question. Eowyn and I were to be arrested under his orders!"

  


  


"Arrested!" He exclaimed with what seemed to Melia to be   
genuine shock. "Aragorn never issued such an order! He merely wanted to speak to   
both of you regarding some disturbing news he had received about the queen."   


  


  


"Such requests would have been better served without the   
presence of armed guards," Melia retorted sharply but inwardly she was wrestling   
with her conscience. There was so much sincerity in his voice that Melia almost   
believed him but she was still unconvinced that this was not some kind of   
deception. For all she knew, he could be a skin changer. However, her husband   
did not appear as if he were under any enchantment and if he was not, then   
perhaps the situation was not as desperate as they believed. 

  


  


"Mia," he met her gaze in earnest. "I love you and I would   
never stand by and allow any harm to come to you, not even if he were the king   
of Gondor or the _world_ for that matter. Do you believe that I could allow   
you to be harmed when I have so few years with you as it is? We have a finite   
time on this earth together; I would squander none of it. Please believe me, I   
only want to clarify this entire situation, not make it worse."

  


  


Melia knew this was a trap.

  


  
She needed desperately to believe that it was but her heart   
would not allow it. As he spoke his words of love for her, she felt her good   
judgement sway and the weapon in her hand lowered when her legs betrayed her and   
moved towards him. Going to him, she saw his handsome face break into a smile,   
the same smile that had won her heart when she had been so determined to keep   
him at arm’s length. His eyes danced with all the light of the stars as they met   
in an embrace and greeted each other with a kiss of heated passion. When he held   
her in his arms, the accomplished woman she was disappeared and she was happy to   
be the girl in love with her prince. 

  


  


A part of her issued caution but Melia was never sensible when   
it came to Legolas.

  


  


"Is this a trap?" she asked softly when their lips pulled   
away.

  


  


Legolas lifted his chin, meeting her eyes before he spoke, "I   
am afraid so."

  


  


She nodded slowly, her eyes glistening with tears as she looked   
at him, knowing deep down inside that he was not the only one guilty of   
deception, that she too, had deceived herself for a brief second into believing   
that he was the man she loved, not someone else’s puppet. 

  


  


"1 hope you forgive me," she spoke with words of anguish, "if I   
do what I must."

  


  


Legolas opened his mouth to respond when suddenly the twang of   
a crossbow replaced his words with a sharp cry of pain. Melia closed her eyes as   
she heard him utter it stepping back as the bolt speared him through the thigh   
and forced him away from her.

  


  


"Whore!" He growled at her as he clutched his bleeding leg   
while she began to weep before him. "I gave you every chance to come with me   
willingly but no more! GUARDS!" 

  


  


His voice almost feral and coming form an elf known for his   
ability to mask his emotions, the naked rage in his eyes shook Melia to the   
core. Drying her eyes, she heard the footsteps of soldiers who had been lying in   
wait while the prince attempted to subdue his wife with deception instead of   
force. However, his failure changed their surveillance into ambush and Melia   
turned on her heels to flee. 

  


  


"I am sorry. When this is over, you will understand that I was   
compelled to this course," she declared once more, anguish in her voice as she   
moved past him and tried not to be affected by the sight of her husband   
clutching his bleeding thigh. 

  


  


The bolt that penetrated his skin was embedded in the floor   
where he had been standing. The proximity of the target when she released the   
bolt had sent it through his leg and out again. 

  


  


"You are not going anywhere!" He shouted and lunged for her.   
Even though he was injured, his reflexes and his strength were still stronger   
than hers and he wrapped his fist around her ankle before she could escape his   
reach. Pulling back forcefully, he tore Melia off her feet and sent her to the   
ground face first. 

  


  


Her head slammed hard against the ground, causing stars to   
appear before her eyes in a wave of dizziness. Warm blood escaped her split lip   
and down her nose. Despite the pain, she knew that in seconds she would be   
caught unless she got to her feet immediately. Unfortunately, his grip upon her   
was viselike and she did not think he would let go. Struggling hard to regain   
her balance as she tried to escape, Melia felt as if she were swimming in mud.   
She caught a glimpse of his eyes and saw two orbs of black onyx staring back at   
him where there should have been the blue of the sea. 

  


  


Arwen was right, she thought with anguish, he was no longer her   
husband but a shape shifter’s creature. 

  


  


"You will not escape this time wife," Legolas hissed and the   
manner, in which he spoke the word ‘wife’, was like a curse that made her skin   
crawl.

  


  


"I think she will," Eowyn’s voice interjected suddenly. 

  


  


She punctuated her statement by bringing down the hilt of her   
sword against the back of his skull. Legolas did not have time to utter a sound   
as she knocked him unconscious and left him on the floor in a dead heap. Without   
pausing to draw breath, Eowyn was soon at her side, helping Melia to her feet   
before the guards reached them. Although she was still disorientated, Melia   
followed Eowyn’s lead as they ran into the entrance of the stairway. Eowyn   
paused long enough to seal the door behind her though the wooden beam across it   
would not hold for long. Still it would give them enough time to put more   
distance between themselves and the soldiers pursuing them.

  


  


"Are you alright? You are bleeding," Eowyn said breathlessly   
with concern at the crimson smear across Melia’s lips and running down her nose   
as they hurried up the stairs.

  


  


Her head was still throbbing from its impact against the stone   
floor but Melia’s greatest injuries were emotional, not physical. Wiping away   
the blood with her sleeve, she nodded quickly and gave response to Eowyn’s   
question, "it is nothing that will not heal. I am well enough to follow   
you."

  


  


"Good," Eowyn replied with clear relief. "When I saw that you   
were not behind us, I thought I had better find you."

  


  


"I am grateful that you did," Melia replied softly. She was   
more distressed by the whole encounter than she would like to admit but this was   
not the time to discuss it in depth. "I was a fool, I knew it was a trap but I   
could not help. I wanted desperately to believe that he was still my   
prince."

  


  


"I would not have behaved any differently if it were Faramir,"   
Eowyn said sympathetically and wondered how she would fare when the enemy   
decided to use Faramir against her. "Arwen was right, they would not be above   
using our feelings for our husbands against us. I do not look forward to facing   
Faramir when the time comes."

  


  


"I would like to think we might have found a way to break the   
spell before that moment came," Melia replied as she continued to follow Eowyn   
up the staircase. 

  


  


Eowyn’s answer was interrupted by the sound of something heavy   
smashing hard against the sealed door. The explosion of noise filled the   
passageway as both women cast their gaze downwards and saw the door shuddering   
against the beam that kept it barricaded. The weight against the door had yet to   
buckle the beam keeping it sealed but judging by the force of the pounding, it   
would not be long before it yielded completely.

  


  


"We had better find a way fast," Eowyn said grimly, "I do not   
relish having to face my husband in battle."

  


  


Or worse yet, having to defeat him. 

  


  


************

  


  


 

  


Her purpose in returning to the palace had been simple enough;   
to reach one of the men who were enchanted by the skin changer spell in the   
hopes of finding some way of breaking the control over their minds.   
Unfortunately, that proved impossible now since it appeared that any hope of a   
covert entry into the palace ended the moment, Lothiriel joined their company.   
Arwen did not blame the girl for their present situation, only regretted that   
their plan had gone astray and the situation was gaining such fierce momentum   
that it appeared it would be sometime before they could catch their breaths and   
formulate a new one. 

  


  


At the present however, Arwen would be grateful if they could   
just make it out of the palace without being captured. After leading her friends   
through the winding staircase to the upper levels of the White Tower, Arwen had   
hoped to gain a little respite as they decided what they would do with the news   
Lothiriel had brought them. Unfortunately, they were intercepted at almost every   
point and it became apparent to Arwen that they were being driven to the very   
top of the castle. This disturbed her greatly because it seemed the enemy had a   
plan and was better able to execute it then the frantic flight she, Eowyn and   
Melia had been undertaking until now.

  


  


It was rather chilling that she and her friends were fighting   
for their lives when outside the window of their present location, people were   
celebrating, unaware that their kingdom was in dire peril. Fireworks exploded in   
the night sky, fiery blooms bringing the dark canvas to life in vibrant shades   
of color. People were celebrating throughout Minas Tirith and in the palace   
itself, oblivious to what was happening because they were driven to the highest   
tower, out of sight and mind of those demanded secrecy for their covert invasion   
of the Citadel.

  


  


"Watch out!" Eowyn’s words of caution sliced through her   
consciousness as one of the guards they were battling swung a blade in her   
direction. It appeared that the determination to capture them alive was no   
longer a consideration. Why should it when they were skin changers involved? The   
foul creatures could just as easily assume their forms if she or any of her   
friends were killed, with no one the wiser until it was too late.

  


  


Arwen dodged the swing of the sword easily enough and lashed   
out with her own. With elven reflexes, she was able to move faster and her blade   
met her opponents with a sharp clang. The soldier she was fighting was   
uncertain, she could sense it from him. He was fighting her in earnest but she   
could tell that he was confused as to why he was doing it. She was after all   
until this morning, his queen and the beloved wife of his king. 

  


  


"Do you not think it is strange that you find yourself in this   
position?" She asked as she held her sword against his and shoved back hard.   


  


  


He stumbled a little but not enough to be at a disadvantage.   
The man did not answer and Arwen suspected it was because he had no response to   
give that would make sense to her or to himself. She closed in on him, taking   
advantage of his momentary lapse to disarm him. She had no desire to kill him   
but she was not about to be captured either. In a swift flick of her wrist and   
far more dexterity then he was capable, Arwen’s blade circled his and tore the   
weapon from his hand. The blade clattered to the floor noisily.

  


  


"Pick it up Lothiriel!" Arwen ordered. 

  


  


Lothiriel who had spent much of the battle in a corner,   
remaining out of the way of those capable of fighting it, emerged quickly from   
her hiding place, determined not to fail the queen who had protected her so far.   
She grasped the weapon in her hand as Arwen closed in on the soldier she had   
been fighting, making Lothiriel wish that she had spent some time learning the   
sword. It never seemed like a necessary skill to learn, not when she was a lady   
of Dol Amroth and her father had at his disposal an army with which he protected   
his realm and his family.

  


  


"Withdraw," Arwen ordered as she held the point of her sword   
against the man’s throat. He had been forced against the wall now that he was   
unarmed and stared at her with the same uncertainty, that he was at a loss to   
understand why she was his enemy. 

  


  


"I cannot," he stammered. 

  


  


"Are you in a hurry to die?" she hissed with uncharacteristic   
venom. 

  


  


"No," he swallowed, "I have orders to remain here."

  


  


Arwen did not like the sound of this at all. 

  


  


"Why?" She demanded suspiciously.

  


  


"Arwen," Eowyn who had been battling her own opponent’s   
suddenly spoke. 

  


  


Arwen shifted her gaze momentarily from the soldier to the lady   
of Ithilien. She and Melia had been fighting the rest of the soldiers sent after   
them and the floor was littered with their successes, some either on the floor   
unconscious or wounded. However, Arwen began to understand what her own opponent   
had meant when he was told to remain here in this juncture at the top of the   
tower. How had she not felt him?

  


  


"Undomiel," Aragorn replied and this time he was carrying   
Anduril in his hand as he approach. She could not bring herself to wield his   
weapon against it and left the blade when she had taken flight from their   
apartments. The king was dressed as if he were prepared to entertain guests but   
the look in his eyes was anything but cordial. 

  


  


"You do not have the right to call me that name," Arwen hissed,   
noting that there was no one with him but she did not think they were very far   
behind. No doubt they were waiting for their king to give the order to proceed.   
"You are not my Estel."

  


  


"I am your husband," he repeated himself. "And you have stolen   
my son. I will know where he is."

  


  
"You are not my husband," she returned sharply, hating to   
say these words but love for him did not alter the truth. "You are a shape   
shifter’s creature and you will never get your hands upon our son while their   
stink is upon you!"

  


  


"I am no one’s creature!" He snapped sharply but his rage did   
not hide his own confusion. Whatever the enchantment was upon him, it did not   
appear to make him aware that he was under someone else’ sway. It was an   
insidious spell, Arwen decided and when she freed him of it, she would make her   
displeasure known to those who had cast it upon him. 

  


  


"Aragorn," Arwen looked at him dead in the eye, "you are not   
yourself and until you are yourself, this will not end. I will do what I can to   
help you but I will not allow your master to destroy everything that we have   
fought so hard to build."

  


  


"You do not have the strength to stand against me wife," he   
raised his blade and Arwen felt her heart sink because even with her skill, she   
could not match him in swordplay. There was not a person in the entire kingdom   
that could. 

  


  


"She does not have to," Melia replied aiming her crossbow at   
the base of his skull. 

  


  


"Will you shoot me Ranger?" He asked coldly, his gaze still   
fixed on Arwen, tearing layers of skin off her flesh with the distance in eyes.   
"Will you do the same to me as you did to your prince?" 

  


  


"I will do what I must to protect the queen," Melia answered   
firmly.

  


  


"As will I," Eowyn raised her sword to his neck. "I do not wish   
to fight you Aragorn, but we will if we must."

  


  


"You have nowhere else to go," Aragorn answered unperturbed by   
the momentary stalemate. "My warriors are waiting for my signal to proceed. They   
will become impatient in time if I do not speak and will surely come to their   
king’s aid. Do you intend to fight them all? You have been admirably attempting   
to keep from harming any of their number but what if they do not have the same   
consideration for you? You have stolen the crown prince from his bed and   
threatened your king, that is a treasonable offence. Men are put to death for   
less."

  


  
Arwen swallowed and stared at her husband, feeling her   
heart break inside her chest as she told herself that this was not his fault or   
him for that matter. However, the piercing gaze that stared back at her made it   
hard to be so objective. 

  


  


"Arwen, take Lothiriel and go!" Eowyn ordered, painfully aware   
of what her friend must be enduring at this instant but unable to afford her the   
time to adjust. Melia had almost been captured for the same weakness and Eowyn   
was not about to let Arwen fall into the same trap.

  


  


Arwen nodded wildly, tearing her eyes away from her husband   
because being in Estel’s presence would only make it more difficult to think   
clearly and they needed her to be focussed if any of them were to survive their   
present dilemma. Her eyes moved across the hallway and saw that there was only   
one way to go. The end of the corridor from which Estel had emerged were no   
doubt filled with waiting guards while the door she was had selected as her   
escape route had no alternate means of entry save one and she was still   
uncertain how they were going to manage that little miracle. Unfortunately, it   
was the only route that offered the slightest chance of escape. 

  


  


"This is not over," Arwen said finally as she retreated, "I   
will have my husband back."

  


  


"That," he stared at her sharply, "I can guarantee you will   
have though not in the way you envision madam."

  


  


"Come on," Lothiriel said taking the initiative by pulling   
Arwen forward, seeing the anguish in the eyes of her queen and knowing that   
nothing would be served with the continuation of this debate. 

  


  
As Arwen and Lothiriel drew away, Aragorn suddenly lashed   
out at Melia, knowing that of the two women holding their weapons at him, the   
lady Ranger would have the most difficulty reacting to anything unexpected. When   
Melia had taken positioned behind him, she had aimed her crossbow at his neck   
and unless she intended to kill him, Aragorn doubted she would shoot without   
first readjusting her aim to ensure that he was not harmed grievously. The ball   
of his foot struck the side of her foot, immediately driving her to the ground   
on her knees. He retreated from Eowyn long enough to escape the edge of her   
blade and when she came after him, Anduril was already raised and waiting.

  


  


Melia cursed under her breath as she saw Aragorn and Eowyn   
facing each other in battle. It did not take long for the commotion to attract   
the guards that had been lying in wait for the king’s signal. The ranger wasted   
no time contending with this new threat and was grateful that Legolas was not   
leading them. She supposed that after the injury she had given him, it was   
likely that he was in the House of Healing being tended to. She immediately laid   
down a relentless barrage of bolts, ensuring that the warriors attempting to   
apprehend did not progress far enough along the corridor to reach them.

  


  
"Melia run!" Eowyn ordered as she faced Aragorn.

  


  
"What about you?" The ranger demanded, not at all happy to   
be leaving the lady of Ithilien who had come to her rescue earlier.

  


  


"GO!" Eowyn’s curt response answered her question and Melia   
struggled briefly before she realized that she did not have enough for bolts for   
a renewed assault upon the guards when they finally recovered enough to give   
pursuit or if more followed. Cursing the logic of the situation, Melia had no   
choice but to do as Eowyn asked and ran for the doorway in which Arwen and   
Lothiriel had gone.

  


  


In the meantime, Eowyn was having difficulties of her own,   
finding herself face to face with Aragorn with swords drawn. As confident as she   
was in her ability to handle a weapon, Eowyn could not deny the sliver of doubt   
that was driving its way into her mind that perhaps she could not win against   
the man she had once loved and still felt more than she should, even now. 

  


  


"Aragorn," Eowyn looked at him desperately, "do not bring us to   
this."

  


  


"It is not I that brings us to this predicament my lady,"   
Aragorn said aloofly, sounding far too menacing for her liking. "You need only   
lay down your sword and end this without bloodshed."

  


  


"I seriously doubt that," Eowyn answered, realizing that they   
were going to do battle. There was no avoiding it. "You are not yourself my king   
and I cannot allow your masters to gain a foothold of Middle earth."

  


  


"I am no one’s creature!" Aragorn snapped and stabbed his blade   
in her direction. Eowyn barely had time to side step it and swing her own weapon   
to deflect it from her. Slamming her sword against the steel of his, she rotated   
her wrist in a tight circle and attempted to disarm him. Unfortunately, Aragorn   
was too good a swordsman to fall for that and he returned her strike with one of   
his own. There was so much power beneath his blade that Eowyn was driven   
backward and his speed in retracting Anduril gave her little time to recover.   
She ducked to avoid being stuck when he parried hard, forcing an equally   
practiced riposte from her. 

  


  


"You are skilled with a sword Lady of Ithilien," Aragorn   
remarked as they pulled back from one another. "However, there is more to battle   
then just sword play."

  


  


He came at her again and Eowyn moved to block the strike,   
however, the instant her blade connected with Anduril, Aragorn’s free hand   
clamped around the wrist holding her sword. He pulled her forward in one swift   
movement and slammed his forehead against hers. As Eowyn doubled back in pain   
and disorientation, she felt the back of his knuckle striking the side of her   
face. The blow was powerful enough to send her sprawling. She would have fallen   
to the floor if not for the fact that she hit the wall first. Her head smacked   
painfully against the brick and Eowyn had barely sense to see that he was coming   
at her again. 

  


  


She dodged the punch that would have rendered her unconscious   
if it were allowed to connect to her face. Slipping out of his reach, Eowyn   
collected herself enough to kick hard after he had swung, landing her foot   
firmly against his ribs. Aragorn uttered a little grunt of pain but it effected   
him no more then that because he lunged towards her in a full body tackle. Both   
of them landed on the ground, Eowyn bearing the brunt of their unceremonious   
landing since his weight was on top of her. Eowyn struggled to escape him but   
his grip around her body was strong and she found herself kicking him to get   
free. 

  


  


Breathing hard, Eowyn crawled away on all fours when she felt   
his hands on her ankle. Before she could pull away, he had dragged her back to   
him, despite her frantic efforts to escape. He moved far swifter then she could   
possibly imagine and wondered that if all those years living in Rivendell had   
perhaps given him a little elvish speed because before she could even think to   
react, he had both her hands pinned to the ground. 

  


  
"Give in Madam," Aragorn hissed as he kept firm grip upon   
her hands. "Give in and you may survive this."

  


  


"NO!" Eowyn shouted and brought her knee up as high as it would   
go, slamming it into Aragorn’s spine, unseating him just enough for her to twist   
hard and throw him off her body. Bleeding from where she had fallen and from   
where he had hit her, Eowyn saw him regaining his balance and turning a menacing   
gaze at her. For the first time since this all began, she felt herself gripped   
with fear. The emotion made her run even though she should have considered her   
action first. 

  


  


Aragorn intercepted her easily, throwing a fist into her side   
and filling the room with the satisfied crack of ribs. Eowyn cried out in pain   
and doubled over, halted in mid step by the brutal attack and looked up in time   
to catch a fist square in the face. All the strength left her then as she   
collapsed to the floor, blood spurting out of her nose, her ribs stabbing at her   
in white-hot agony. She landed on her side and saw him standing over her but the   
desire to fight back was gone, there was only one thought in her mind and that   
was to run. 

  


  


Struggling to her feet, Eowyn made a dash to get past but   
Aragorn was not fast enough to by him. Fortunately, she did not need to.

  


  


"Aragorn!" Melia called out and caught the attention of the   
Gondorian king. 

  


  


Aragorn turned and around and smashed in the face with Melia’s   
crossbow. He staggered backwards but in no way did Melia believe the threat of   
him was ended. Dropping low, she threw out her leg in a wide arch and swept him   
off his feet. The former Ranger collapsed unto the floor hard and Melia wasted   
no time hurrying to Eowyn. 

  


  


"You were supposed to go.." Eowyn said weakly as Melia began to   
drag her away from the momentarily stunned king.

  


  


"Fortunately I listen about as well as you do," Melia quipped   
as she shut the door behind them and barricaded it with a chair though she did   
not think that it would hold for very long.

  


  


"Where are we going?" Eowyn asked grimacing in pain whilst   
still clutching what she was certain to be broken ribs. 

  


  


"There is only one way out of this tower," Melia answered   
grimly, "other than surrendering." 

  


  


Eowyn did not like the sound of this. 

  


  


"How?"  


  


*************

  


  


Lothiriel looked down and flinched when she could not see the   
ground. They were _that_ far away from it. She gave Arwen a frightened look   
as the wind whipped in her hair and chilled her skin, hoping that the queen was   
making a jest. Surely, she could not be serious about taking this course. Within   
reach, the standard of the city fluttered in majestic glory as it had done since   
the construction of the White Tower or the more appropriately the Tower of   
Ecthelion. The ropes that kept it secured were long enough for the purpose that   
Arwen desired. 

  


  


"We will be killed!" She exclaimed as she saw Arwen stealing   
the ropes that kept the banner in place. 

  


  


"We will be killed if we remain here and allow ourselves to be   
captured," Arwen said paying little attention to the girl because she was   
focussed too much on getting them off this tower. The rope was long enough to   
suit their purposes though the descent would be by no means easy. It was   
certainly not enough to reach the ground but it would take them to a lower level   
in the tower, possibly avoiding the guards for a time. 

  


  
"Perhaps they will not harm us," Lothiriel offered   
desperately, looking over the edge of the tower roof and finding her head   
spinning at just the notion of descending its length. She knew she was making   
excuses and was ashamed of it but she had never been in such a situation of   
peril in her entire life. 

  


  


"I seriously doubt that," Melia retorted as she and Eowyn   
stepped onto the roof with them. 

  


  


"Eowyn!" Arwen let out a gasp when she saw Melia’s arms   
securely around Eowyn’s body, helping her to stand. "What happened?"

  


  


"I am afraid I found out first hand why your husband strikes   
fear into his enemies," Eowyn muttered as she took a moment to rest after Melia   
had set her down and was finding some way to barricade the entrance behind them.   


  


  


"Estel did this to you?" Arwen asked in dismay. "Oh Eowyn I am   
so sorry!"

  


  


"It is not your fault or his," Eowyn replied quickly, "he is   
under the spell of the enemy and he has always been a formidable warrior in   
battle."

  


  


Arwen did not what else to say. She was horrified at Eowyn’s   
state and uncertain that with the lady’s injuries, she could manage the feat   
that Arwen was about to ask her. Climbing down a length of rope was a physically   
exhausting exercise as it was. "Melia, can you climb rope?"

  


  


Melia nodded quickly, aware of Arwen’s plan and understanding   
that some modification was going to be needed to compensate for Eowyn’s injuries   
and Lothiriel’s lack of physical strength. "I can manage. What about you?"

  


  


"In three thousand years of life, I have been called on to   
undertake that particular skill," Arwen replied. "Eowyn, you and Lothiriel will   
have to be lowered. I can see no other way that you can descend this tower."

  


  


"Lowered?" Eowyn’s eyes widened and then realized where they   
were. "You must be joking!" 

  


  


"This is hardly the time for that," Arwen retorted resuming her   
preparations for the undertaking. Even as she answered, she heard the distant   
sound of door being pounded into opening. It would not take them long to breach   
their refuge. "We do not have the luxury of time and this is the only way. The   
library is within reach of the rope and it is a seldom traversed part of the   
palace. From there I believe we can make our way down the tower and leave the   
way we came."

  


  


"Leave?" Eowyn looked at her. "I thought you wanted to capture   
one of them."

  


  


"At this stage, I would be happy if we left the White Tower in   
one piece," Arwen replied. "We must think of another plan."

  


  


"Yes," Lothriel declared. "You must go and stop those skin   
changers from entering the palace. They were disguised as Gondorian soldiers   
meaning they could already be inside the Citadel.

  


  


"One thing at a time," Melia retorted, gazing over the edge of   
the roof at the colorful celebrations below and wondered how they had come to   
this. She did not relish the idea of climbing down the tower, even if it was to   
a window on the lower level but at this moment, they had little choice but to   
act. Their pursuers would soon discern that there were not many places they   
could hide. 

  


  


Arwen tied the end of the rope around a stone gargoyle perched   
at the edge of the tower and tested the strength of the knot. It appeared as if   
it would hold although she wished she could be more certain of that fact when it   
she was gambling with her friends lives on its strength. Once secured, she   
turned to her companions again.

  


  


"Eowyn, you will go first," Arwen spoke into tones that did not   
sound like a request but rather an order. "Secure this around your waist. The   
rest of us will lower you down."

  


  


Eowyn gave her a dubious glance as she took the rope and tied   
it around herself, appearing less than confidence that this entire enterprise   
would not see her dashed to the ground in a gruesome end. "I hope you are   
certain about this."

  


  


"Think of it this way," Melia joked. "If she is mistaken, you   
will be the first among us to find out."

  


  


*************

  


  


Eowyn had gone first, protesting most of the way over the edge   
though none that were holding the rope could blame her for her trepidation. Even   
though the rope was tied securely around the gargoyle, the others held the rope   
and allowed her to be lowered off the roof for as far as it would take. Time   
crawled with the pacing of eternity as the weight tugged at the end of the rope,   
the further they allowed it to descent. Arwen was unaware that she was holding   
her breath until she felt two sharp tugs, which indicated that Eowyn had reached   
the ledge of the library window safely. 

  


  


Lothiriel was unafraid to voice her concerns as she secured the   
rope around her waist but she was conditioned to obey her superiors and the   
queen certainly fell under that category. Trembling like a leaf in the wind as   
she was released into windy void beyond the edge of the roof, she clutched the   
rope so tightly in her hands that Arwen could see her knuckles turning white.   
Her outright terror did not escape either the queen or the lady of Eden Ardhon   
and while they felt for her plight, they could not allow her to avoid it. Once   
she was however lowered, she bore it silently and inspired the admiration of her   
companions by keeping calm during the nerve wracking ordeal.

  


  


"You should go first," Melia instructed Arwen. 

  


"This was my idea," Arwen declared firmly. "You have risked   
yourselves enough for me on this occasion and more often then I can count. Do   
not argue with me on this matter Melia, I wish you to go first." 

  


  


"They are close Arwen," Melia protested, aware that the   
shuddering sound of wood breaking a short time ago was their pursuers breaking   
through one of the barricades Melia had put in their way during the journey   
here. 

  


  


"I know," Arwen nodded. "That is why you must go now."

  


  


Melia could offer no other argument and there was not enough   
time for a protracted debate. Thus she did the only thing she could, she obeyed.   


  


  


Arwen lowered Melia in the same way that she had done to   
Lothiriel and Eowyn, ignoring the pain of the rope as it burned into her skin   
from the weight she was required to carry alone. For what seemed longer than   
ever before, she carefully lowered the ranger down the length of the tower, her   
heart pounding in anticipation of the signal that would tell her that Melia had   
crossed the distance safely. The sounds of breaking wood and excited voices were   
becoming louder in the background and Arwen realized that she would be very   
lucky indeed if she could make the same journey before the soldiers reached the   
roof.

  


  


As if in answer to her quandary, she felt the weight at the end   
of the rope slackened, followed by two sharp pulls. Arwen let out a sigh of   
relief and pulled the rope up towards her again. As soon as she had its end in   
her hands, she tied it around herself securely and went to the ledge. Until she   
found herself at the edge of the periphery, did she realize what a long way it   
was to the ground. She chided herself for doing so because it served no purpose   
other than to make her more nervous then she already was. Pulling the rope   
tight, she stepped over the edge and descended.

  


  


The wind whipped at her mercilessly but even as she began the   
downward climb, she heard the shattering of wood that was the door to the roof.   
She moved faster than she thought possibly, hoping to make good distance before   
they discovered her. Her arms ached from the exertion, gravity pulling against   
muscle and grip to drag her into oblivion. She did not remember this task being   
so arduous and supposed that several centuries could temper the experience   
somewhat. 

  


  
"Arwen!" She looked up and heard Aragorn’s voice. 

  


  


She was almost to the window where the others were waiting for   
her anxiously. They were nearly close enough to touch but when she heard   
Aragorn’s voice, she knew that they might as well have been ten thousand leagues   
away. She saw Aragorn barking orders at his men and that they were pulling the   
rope upwards, dragging her to him. If she fell into his hands, she would lose   
him forever and Middle earth would fall under the shadow of new Dark Age, almost   
as terrible as the one might have ensued if Sauron had taken back the Master   
Ring. 

  


  


She could not allow that to happen.

  


  


"Melia!" Arwen looked down at the ranger. 

  


  


Their eyes met and in that split second of time, Melia   
understood what it was her queen was asking of her. Her first thought was to   
refuse, her second to gaze down at the height they would be risking with the   
gamble Arwen would have her make. 

  


  


"Lothiriel, Eowyn," Melia swallowed thickly, "hold onto my   
legs."

  


  


It took Eowyn a second to realize what she intended. "ARE YOU   
INSANE?"

  


  


"Yes," Melia nodded, too numb to offer any other response. She   
pushed herself out as far over the ledge of the window as she could, with Eowyn   
and Lothiriel maintaining a secure grip on her.

  


  


"Arwen! Now!" She cried out, allowing herself no time to   
prepare mainly because there was no preparing for something like this and if she   
failed, it would most likely kill them both. 

  


  


Arwen sucked in her breath and whispered to herself, "what I am   
enduring for this man!"

  


  


Then she let go.

  


  


There was a rush of air and her own screams filled her ears as   
she plunged downward, stark horror coursing through her. Panic rushed up from   
inside her being and consumed her whole in the terrifying seconds that followed   
her release of the rope. She did not know how long she fell but when she felt   
arms making a powerful grab for her body, it felt like it was forever. The   
velocity of her drop tore her out of Melia’s reach and there was a moment of   
blind terror when she thought that their gambit had failed, that she was going   
to fall and die without saving her husband or her son. However, that moment   
passed swiftly when hand clenched around her wrist with stubborn refusal to let   
her go. 

  


  


Arwen stared upwards and saw Melia almost hanging out of the   
window, her face strained with effort as she maintained her hold of Arwen’s   
wrist.

  


  


"Hold on!" she cried out and tried to extend her other hand   
towards Arwen.

  


  


Using all the strength that she possessed, the queen of Gondor   
forced herself to reach the outstretched hand, fighting the weight of her own   
body as her muscles screamed for relief at the torturous burden. Their fingers   
met readily enough and Melia closed her hand around Arwen’s getting a firmer   
grip as Lothiriel and Eowyn dragged them both to safety. It was difficult to say   
who was more ravaged by the experience, Arwen for dangling off the edge of   
disaster like a meat on a hook or Melia at the unimaginable possibility of   
allowing her to fall by failing her queen.

  


  


For a few seconds after the ordeal had passed, the four women   
could only lay there, breathing hard and thanking whatever deities were   
appropriate for the occasion at their continued survival.

  


  


Eowyn spoke first, allowing her gaze to sweep over her   
companions before stating, "Arwen, the next time you invite Faramir and I to a   
celebration at the palace, you will forgive me if I decline."

  



	7. Chapter Six: Hidden Talents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of a signing a historic treaty with the Easterlings that will ensure peace, Aragorn and the other leaders of Middle earth find themselves trapped by a spell that bends their will to the purpose of the beautiful Easterling queen. As enemy troops began to move into Minas Tirith, it is up to Arwen, Eowyn and the newly arrived Lothiriel of Dol Amroth to find a way to break the spell before the enemy accomplishes what Sauron could not, the talking of the White City and Middle earth with it. .

  


The library had seen better years. 

  


For a time, it had been the favored refuge of Denethor’s   
youngest son, providing him sanctuary when he required solace from the emotional   
wounds inflicted upon him by his father. It was in this place, that Faramir,   
briefly Steward of Gondor and presently Prince of Ithilien, had discovered the   
world was more than the White City and the knowledge of the ages could aid him   
in his journey to manhood. It was the place he told Eowyn, where he had come to   
dream and to hope that someday he would be a man worthy of Denethor’s   
affection.

  


In his absence, the library had been forgotten by most of the   
occupants of the White Tower. Denethor was a learned man but had the books most   
valued to him; moved to the treasury for he had his own agenda to fulfil and he   
did not wish to share it. Since Faramir’s departure, the library had been mostly   
ignored and the new king had greater matters to deal with then the restoration   
of one section of his household. Covered with a thick veneer of dust and filled   
with the musty smell of old books, the beam of light entering the room through   
the window illuminated the fine particles in the air and made it appear as if   
fireflies had taken up residence within its confines.

  


The four women took their rest in silence following their   
spectacular arrival into the library, listening to the whistle of wind outside   
the window and their own slowing breaths. Each were trying to gain some balance   
after being understandably shaken following their encounter with Aragorn and   
Legolas, not to mention escaping the relentless pursuit by their enemies. Arwen   
found her gazed fixed on Eowyn, who appeared to have endured the worst of this   
chase, having found herself pitted against Aragorn in combat. Arwen wondered if   
Eowyn knew how fortunate she was to have survived the encounter. 

  


Melia did not speak much about her confrontation with Legolas   
but the anguish in her eyes was unmistakable. Arwen suspected that a small part   
of Melia had been clinging to the hope that this was all a terrible mistake,   
that Legolas was not stolen from her in this terrible manner. Until she faced   
the prince herself and saw that he was indeed enchanted, Melia had not truly   
believed. Unfortunately, the prince’s actions during that encounter left no   
further doubt in Melia’s mind and it told greatly by the sorrow Arwen saw in her   
eyes. 

  


"We cannot linger here long," Arwen finally broke the silence   
in their darkened surroundings. It was not safe to lit the room for it would be   
a clear indicator of their occupancy. "It will not take them long to discern   
where we have gone."

  


"I know," Eowyn nodded as she tried to conceal the pain she   
felt, each time she made any movement. The grinding of broken ribs against each   
other brought a wave of nausea to the pit of her stomach that was making it   
harder and harder to keep from gagging in disgust. 

  


"Let me look," Melia scrambled across the floor they were   
seated on, towards her. 

  


"I will be fine," Eowyn returned bravely but all those present   
could see that she was not. 

  


"I cannot believe the king did that to you," Lothiriel shook   
her head, clearly disturbed by Aragorn’s behavior though it should not have been   
a surprise. "He seemed so nice at the feast when my father and I first arrived,"   
she added, thinking that night felt as if it were years in the past at the   
moment. 

  


"It is not him," Arwen said quickly, bound to defend her king   
even though she was wrestling with her own shock at what he had done, "it is the   
spell."

  


"I think we need to leave the palace," Melia remarked as she   
examined the bruising on Eowyn’s side. "Eowyn needs to recover. I am certain   
that she has broken some ribs."

  


"I will manage," Eowyn insisted, though she knew her efforts to   
be brave were seen through clearly. 

  


"I have no doubt that you will try," Arwen said warmly, "but   
you must allow yourself to heal if you are to be of any use to us in freeing the   
men from this enchantment."

  


Eowyn frowned unhappily at Arwen’s words but she could not deny   
them. The queen was right, in Eowyn’s present state, she was a liability to   
them. Eowyn was too experienced a warrior to be able to fly in the face of this   
truth. Unfortunately, the realization did not assuage her guilt at being a   
hindrance to her friends in this crucial hour. 

  


"I dislike it immensely when you are right," she frowned. 

  


  
"Especially when it occurs so often," Melia quipped in an   
effort to break the tension at this unhappy understanding of their   
situation.

  


"Quiet you," Arwen threw the former ranger a good-natured   
warning. 

  


Her notice however, soon shifted to Lothiriel who appeared more   
shaken then the rest of the company in light of what they had just endured.   
Arwen found herself remembering that Lothiriel had little experience with her   
life being placed in such peril and under the circumstances, the young woman had   
held up admirably under the strain. Still, it did appear as if cracks were   
beginning to form in her fortitude.

  


"Lothiriel," Arwen turned to Lothiriel who was wearing a   
worried expression of her face as her eyes darted around their surroundings,   
reacting to any sound or movement that captured her attention. Arwen’s call   
brought her gaze towards the queen and her frightened expression lingered   
still.

  


"Are you alright?" Arwen asked gently.

  


"Yes," Lothiriel nodded a little too quickly. "This is all very   
overwhelming. I have never been in the danger I have seen today and the thought   
that my father and the king are now under the spell of some skin changer,   
frightens me more than I say."

  


"You have kept your wits about you nonetheless," Melia said   
encouragingly, "that is nothing to be ashamed of."

  


"Precisely," Arwen added her voice to the show of support to   
further empower Lothiriel to believe in herself and her ability to endure. "We   
will think of someway to free our loved ones, be assured of that."

  


"Do you know what sort of spell it is?" Lothiriel asked after a   
moment, feeling the boost in her own confidence at the encouraging words of   
those around her. 

  


"No," Arwen shook her head. "It is no doubt an ancient one and   
powerful for I have seen these skin changers once attempting to bring back   
Morgoth from the void."

  


"Are they the kind of conjurers who are able to simply speak a   
spell to make it work as the Maiar are able or are they lesser mages that   
require words or hand gestures?"

  


Arwen looked at the girl, rather surprised by the intelligence   
behind the question and considered her answer carefully before she answered.   
When she had been at Nargothrond and the shape shifters had attempted to infuse   
her unborn babe with Morgoth’s spirit; they had used a chant to make their spell   
of darkness come alive.

  


"Words," Arwen answered looking Lothiriel in the eye, curious   
as to what the young woman would do with that information.

  


"Words," Lothiriel absorbed quietly and then remarked, almost   
without being aware of her speaking it. "That is fortunate for that means they   
are not as powerful as we think. Were there able to cast spells by thought   
alone, there is no way we could defeat them unless one of the Istari was   
present. Mages who used word spells are dangerous but not invincible. We must   
find the exact spell, for this kind of conjuring usually requires some form of   
catalyst. Spells that seek to tamper with the mind such as the one cast over the   
king and all the leaders of the Middle earth cannot simply be spoken. It is   
extremely difficult to affect the power of will with worlds alone, there must be   
some agent in place that allow the spell to reach its end. It must be something   
close to the body, something that can be worn against the skin, like a bracelet,   
a pendant or even a ring. Isildur’s Bane was said to have such power over   
mind."

  


When Lothiriel did not receive an answer from the others, she   
looked up in question and found that the eyes of the queen, the ladies of   
Ithilien and Eden Ardhon were fixed upon her in unhidden amazement.

  


"Lady Lothiriel of Dol Amroth," Melia spoke first, "I believe   
there is something you need to tell us about how you know so much about   
magic."

  


Lothiriel swallowed anxiously, afraid of how they would react   
if she should reveal the truth but then realized that this was a rather a moot   
point after ruminating out loud for all to hear. "You will not tell my father?   
He would be most upset if he learns I spoke of this outside the family."

  


"I think at this point, you have little to worry about," Eowyn   
declared with a grunt as she reacted to Melia’s efforts to bind her ribs with   
what material they had at hand.

  


"I want to be a wizard," Lothiriel confessed. "I have studied   
magic and sorcery all my life and I think I can be a good one if only I had the   
instruction of an Istar. I wanted to go Isengard to learn under the tutelage of   
the mages left there by the Grey Pilgrim but my father does not understand. He   
says that I do not have the skill but I know I do, it is just that the spells I   
perform do not always appear as intended."

  


"What do you mean do not appear as intended?" Arwen asked   
suspiciously.

  


"Well there was one instance where I attempted to make the   
flowers in my mother’s garden grow and that is what happened   
except….,"Lothiriel’s voice drifted off in correspondence to rising flush of red   
in her cheeks.

  


"Except?" Eowyn prompted.

  


"It would not stop," the young woman replied embarrassed. "Half   
the garden was overtaken in rose bushes in a matter of seconds. My father was   
most displeased."

  


"Well I think I understand why he is so eager to marry you   
off," Melia chuckled. 

  


"I told Lord Eomer," Lothiriel quickly added, not wishing to   
have Eowyn in particular believing that she had sought to deceive any one. "The   
night before all this happened, I told him why my father was so insistent on   
this marriage."

  


"What did my brother have to say?" Eowyn asked, not believing   
that this sweet if somewhat interesting young lady was deceitful, even if her   
tastes were unusual. However, considering that Eowyn had once garbed herself as   
a member of the Rohirrim and matched to Gondor to fight at Pelennor, she was in   
no position to point fingers at what was inappropriate behavior.

  


"He was very nice about it," Lothiriel found herself saying   
with a little smile, remembering how amused Eomer had been and how completely   
unexpected his reaction had been. She had thought that he would rebuke her for   
her eccentricities but instead he had taken it with a grain of salt and said   
nothing that would hurt her feelings. 

  


"He is unfailing sweet when he wants to be," Eowyn replied,   
taking careful note of the luster in Lothiriel’s eyes when she spoke of Eomer.   
The lady of Ithilien understood at that instance perhaps this union that Imrahil   
craved might not be as unaccepted to Lothiriel or Eomer as either would have   
previously believed. 

  


"Lothiriel," Arwen interrupted because they had more important   
issues to discuss now that Lothiriel had made known her hidden talents. Even if   
the girl was inexperienced, she knew more than her companions combined about the   
casting of spells and right now, it was knowledge they needed desperately. "You   
said that the spell cast over the men required an agent, what did you mean?"

  


Lothiriel turned to the queen, recognizing the need in Arwen’s   
voice and thinking quickly of her answer. "Isildur’s Bane was able to affect the   
minds of those who wore it began it was close to the skin, I think what   
enchantment has befallen my father and the others is similar. There must be   
something that make it possible for the spell to do its work, however, I do not   
think it is a ring or something worn on the body in this case."

  


"I agree," Arwen nodded. "Whatever it was, it would have to be   
capable of taking over all of them at once and quickly. Legolas would have   
sensed the clouding of his companions’ minds almost instantly, even if he could   
not detect the shape shifters themselves. Unfortunately, they know how to hide   
from elves, that I can assure you."

  


"Unless they took him first," Melia pointed out.

  


"I doubt it," Eowyn shook her head. "They would have taken   
Aragorn first. He is the most important and the most useful to them. Legolas may   
be the Prince of Mirkwood and Eden Ardhon but he is an elf and the power of the   
Eldar in this time is waning. It is advantageous both politically and   
strategically to gain control of the king."

  


"Then what could have taken them all at once?" Arwen asked. "I   
knew the exact moment when he was taken from me and that was while they were   
signing the treaty. How could it have happened when they were all present in   
each other’s company?"

  


"At the treaty?" Lothiriel’s awakened with possibilities. "You   
are certain of this?"

  


"Yes," Arwen stared at the young woman, seeing the glimmer in   
her eyes. "Why?"

  


"What if they had already signed the treaty?" She asked.

  


"I do not understand," Melia remarked, uncertain what Lothiriel   
was alluding to. "What difference does it make if the treaty was signed? Ulfrain   
had no intention of honoring."

  


"Honor is precisely what happened," Lothiriel declared, "what   
would have happened immediately after they signed the treaty, how could they   
have shared the importance of such a momentous occasion?

  


"Elbereth!" Eowyn exclaimed, "they would have toasted the   
treaty."

  


"With a drink," the lady of Dol Amroth concluded with some   
measure of satisfaction. "It was in the wine or whatever it was they were   
drinking. A skin changer would have little difficult tainting the flask or each   
goblet before the serving. It is fast and would take them all at once."

  


"They were poisoned!" Arwen hissed, feeling her stomach   
knotting in disgust. "A toast to celebrate the occasion indeed! It was nothing   
but a ruse to enslave their minds. We must do something! Lothiriel, what can we   
do?"

  


Lothiriel drew in her breath, "I am not certain. Remember that   
I have only read of such things. Circumventing such spells is another thing   
entirely and I was never very good at spell casting."

  


"You are all that we have," Arwen said reaching for her arm.   
"We have no other alternative. Pallando is many days away at the earliest and we   
cannot let our loved ones leave Gondor the way they are, we cannot let them   
return home as the creatures of skin changers."

  


"You wished to know if you can be a wizard Lothiriel," Eowyn   
added, able to see how anxious Lothiriel was about being in such a position. She   
was scared and Eowyn could not blame her but like Arwen, Eowyn knew they had no   
choice. She was all that they had. "This is your chance to prove not only to   
your father but to yourself whether you can be all that you wish."

  


Lothiriel did not wish to deny their cry of health because she   
did not want her father to be under the spell of skin changers any more than   
they but she was afraid. She was afraid because this time, the stakes were   
simply to high to suffer failure. 

  


"I will do what I can," Lothiriel finally relented. "If it all   
possible for me to break this spell I will do my best to see it done."

  


"I know you will," Arwen smiled. "Let us leave here and find   
some place safer where we can discuss what you are going to need."

  


************

  


Fortunately, while Arwen had seldom visited this part of the   
castle, Eowyn knew it well. Whenever she and Faramir came to stay in the White   
City, the former prince of Gondor would give her a tour of all his favorite   
places in the palace when he had lived here under Denethor’s rule. One of his   
favorite places was the library and Eowyn surmised that he was grateful that   
Aragorn had done nothing to alter it in any way. It was the wish of anyone who   
wanted to maintain the illusion of their childhood sanctuary, even if remaining   
as it were meant allowing it to deteriorate considerably.

  


Eowyn remember how much delight he had taken in showing her the   
library, even in its dilapidated state. He had explained with great fondness how   
he would sit at the windowsill, staring out into the vastness of the world   
beyond Minas Tirith, dreaming of things that only little boys with lofty   
ambitions could imagine. It was the place that gave comfort following the death   
of his mother when his father’s arms had grown cold, save for Boromir. During   
its years as his refuge, Faramir had learned everything about the library. His   
knowledge extended beyond the books on the shelf and extended to every nook and   
cranny in the place, including some lesser-known features that had become   
forgotten over the years. 

  


"Keep trying," Eowyn insisted as she sat on the floor, facing a   
world at the far end of the library. 

  


Before her, Arwen, Melia and Lothiriel were systematically   
pulling every book out of the shelves, not an easy task when the length of the   
shelf took up almost the entire wall. It was the only shelf built in this manner   
for a very specific reason, though Eowyn was certain that reason would drive her   
companions to revolt before they discovered it. 

  


"Are you certain of this?" Arwen looked over her shoulder,   
wrinkling her nose in disgust as the dust that was covering her from this   
labor.

  


"He showed it to me," Eowyn insisted. "I saw it open."

  


"Pity you could not remember which one it was," Melia grumbled,   
wiping the sweat from her face. 

  


"It was almost two years ago and what need did I have to   
remember it?" Eowyn retorted. "Besides, be grateful that I remember it at all.   
Faramir discovered it himself by accident, it was apparently installed during   
the time of the Steward Cirion. Cirion had been plagued by wars and before he   
beseeched Eorl to aid him where he gifted him with Calenardhon, there was real   
fear that the White City could fall. I would not be surprised if there are many   
such passages installed during that time, to guard against the eventuality of   
the White Tower coming under siege." 

  


"It would be much simpler if we could simply pull out all the   
books at once," Lothiriel commented.

  


"You could," Eowyn added. "However, when the guards arrive here   
and their search will inevitably bring them here, we do not wish for them to   
know how we escaped and even if they do notice our tracks in the dust, they will   
have a difficult time trying to discern which book it was."

  


"Do you not hate it when she is terribly reasonable?" Melia   
replied and continued to pull the books out of the shelves and upon discovering   
nothing, replaced it. 

  


Lothiriel did not answer, choosing to resume her efforts when   
suddenly a loud creaking sound was heard and the three women stepped away from   
the wall instinctively. Arwen held the book in her hand as the shelf suddenly   
came away from the wall, moving on a pivot that was activated by the mechanism   
attached to the book. A doorway awaited them behind the wood and the musty smell   
that emanated from it indicated that it was probably the first breath of fresh   
air it had received in quite some time.

  


"I do not believe it," Melia said impressed. "There is a secret   
passage after all."

  


"Let us not waste any time then," Arwen prompted them into   
moving. "Melia bring that torch with you, we can use it to light our way through   
the darkness. Once inside the passage, we have no fear that anyone will see the   
light. Lothiriel, help me with Eowyn."

  


"I am no invalid," Eowyn retorted but winced in pain when she   
attempted to stand. 

  


"I am sure," Arwen rolled her eyes as she replaced the book in   
the shelf once again. 

  


The company entered the passageway that stank of stagnant air   
and dust. Melia waited until the shelf had closed behind them before she lit the   
torch with the meager supplies she had managed to acquire shortly after their   
flight had begun. Once the torch was burning, they were better able to see the   
passage into which they had entered. The stairs were made from brick and rather   
crude in its construction. It was also winding and narrow but it served its   
purpose well enough and none of them were about to complain if it afforded them   
a way through the palace that did not require being hunted by every guard in the   
Citadel.

  


"Where does this lead?" Arwen asked as they began descending   
the dimly lit passageway.

  


"Beyond the ramparts surrounding the White Tower, Faramir   
claims," Eowyn replied, thinking it ironic that despite his enchantment, he was   
still capable of coming to her aid in time of need. "Most likely to ensure that   
those using this route to flee would be able to leave the White Tower beyond the   
enemy lines."

  


"That would make sense and it aids us considerably, for we can   
use it again when we need to re-enter the palace." Melia added.

  


"So we are not completely abandoning our plan of capturing one   
of the men?" Eowyn asked, looking in Arwen’s direction.

  


"No we are not," the queen replied firmly. "We are merely   
delayed for the moment while we regroup and dress our wounds from this latest   
encounter. Lothiriel, can you break the enchantment that binds them?"

  


Lothiriel had been considering the question deeply ever since   
Arwen had asked her help in these matters.

  


Despite her anxiety at failing her queen, she knew she had no   
choice but to try. She was the only one at hand who understood the magic   
required to free her father and the rest of Middle earth’s leaders. 

  


"The difficulty lies in discerning which spell has been used   
upon them," Lothiriel explained cautiously. It was not easy to speak about   
things she had spent her whole life hiding from everyone and the exposure was   
rather uncomfortable, even in the company of friends. "If the agent were   
something worn, it would be a simple matter of removing it but since it has been   
ingested, that is a different matter entirely."

  


"But it can be broken? Melia asked hopefully, unable to stomach   
the fact that her Prince could be a servant of a shape shifter for all time.

  


"There are two ways in which it could be," Lothiriel replied   
after a pause where she thought quickly about the question. "We must remove the   
poison inside their bodies or find some way to circumvent its effects. Failing   
that, there is another alternative," she faltered, finding it distasteful to   
even speak of such things but supposed that this was hardly the time to be   
squeamish. 

  


"What alternative?" Eowyn inquired.

  


"We find the shape shifter casting the spell and kill it." 

  


The statement should not have surprised them because in the   
minds of all but the speaker, killing was always going to be something they   
would have to do. However, hearing Lothiriel say it was a little   
disconcerting.

  


"It could be any one of them," Arwen sighed after a moment. "At   
this time, we do not even know Ulfrain, Castigliari and Akallabeth are skin   
changers or humans. We would have to confront each of them to find out and even   
then we could be wrong."

  


"Still, strategically I would say it would be one of these   
three," Eowyn reminded. "It places them closest to their intended targets."

  


"True," Melia agreed with her assertion but also had one of her   
own, "however, they entered the palace with a large entourage. It could be said   
that strategically, the spell caster might have taken a more background role in   
order to protect their identity when the nature of the spell was uncovered."

  


"It does not matter," Arwen interrupted the debate, "we will   
focus our efforts on restoring the men by finding a cure to the poison inside   
them. Attempting to find out who cast the spell when our prey are skin changers   
will be next to impossible and we do not have that much time. We must endeavor   
to free them soon before the celebrations are ended and the leaders of Middle   
earth are required to return home to their lands."

  


"For that, we will need one of them," Lothiriel offered   
reluctantly.

  


"That much fortunately," Melia replied as she brushed a strand   
of cobweb out of her way, "we discerned ourselves already."

  


"That is why we were in the palace when we encountered you,"   
Eowyn explained, starting to feel a little stronger, though not much and did not   
require as much aid to walk down the treacherous looking stairs. "We were   
intending to reach Eomer."

  


"Eomer?" Lothiriel exclaimed with a little more interest then   
she would have preferred to show.

  


The three women smiled to themselves, having no wish to   
embarrass the girl with what was obviously growing affection for the King of the   
Mark, and chose to refrain from making comment to her reaction. 

  


"We believe he would be the one easiest to reach," Arwen   
responded. "Aragorn would be carefully watched and protected, not merely by the   
shape shifters but also by the royal guards. He is the king after all. Faramir   
and Imrahil would be equally difficult to reach as they are Gondorians with   
legitimate claim to the rule of the kingdom. Legolas and Gimli do not have the   
influence had the Prince cannot be approached in the usual manner, not without   
him sensing our approach."

  


It did not matter whom they chose as long as she could remove   
the spell.

  


"Can we reach him?" Lothiriel inquired, not at all relishing   
the possibility of roaming through the palace again, not after the pursuit that   
had seen them driven into this darkness.

  


"I do not know,’ Arwen confessed, wishing she had something   
more definitive than that to offer the girl. 

  


"If we can remain out of sight long enough," Eowyn mused,   
"perhaps they will cease looking for us tonight. After all, the king has guests   
to contend with and the added challenge of maintaining his hunt of us without   
the rest of Gondor knowing why."

  


"I would not be surprised if they returned to the festivities   
actually," Melia shrugged. "Aragorn at least would know that he caused Eowyn   
enough hurt for her to require tending. We have shown no visible means of   
strategy for him to believe we are a threat to him. It is only our continued   
freedom that is a danger, not anything we have been doing."

  


Arwen considered Melia’s words and realized that the lady of   
Eden Ardhon was right. They were hardly a threat to the enemy or to Aragorn at   
this point, merely a nuisance, even with what they knew. "The banquet will well   
and truly be underway by this time of night," Arwen remarked as she thought what   
was to be done. 

  


  
"I wonder how they explained our absence," Eowyn wondered   
out loud. 

  


"With shape shifters, they may not need to," Arwen pointed out.   


  


"Wonderful," Melia groaned. "We cannot even sneak into the   
banquet as ourselves and somehow, I do not think that any of us will pass for   
serving girls."

  


Something shifted into being within Arwen’s mind and an idea   
began to take shape in a flash of inspiration. It was insane and dangerous but   
it could work and what was more, it was the only chance they had of acquiring   
the subject Lothiriel needed to perform her spell of unmaking.

  


"I have an idea," she announced looking at Melia.

  


************

  


Once they had emerged past the ramparts surrounding the White   
Tower, it was an easy matter to find themselves a temporary refuge where Eowyn’s   
wounds could be tended to without fear of discovery by guards or shape shifters   
for that matter. Ironically enough, they had chosen an empty guard house for   
this purpose since most of the soldiers were either enjoying the festivities or   
stationed around the White Tower in an effort to capture them as well as   
protecting the king while the Easterling forces were in Minas Tirith. There was   
little that could be done for Eowyn other than to reinforced the bindings on her   
cracked ribs and treat the bruises she had incurred from Aragorn during their   
battle. Fortunately, they could afford to rest for a few hours because Arwen’s   
plans would achieve their fullest effect when the banquet was drawing to a   
close.

  


Lothiriel and Melia had left the company for a time, needing to   
acquire a few ingredients if Lothiriel was going to attempt to counter the spell   
that had so many of their loved ones in its power. With the celebrating being   
heard from every corner of the city and so many people out in force, it was an   
easy matter for the two women to leave the Citadel and enter the rest of Minas   
Tirith to acquire what they needed. Arwen remained with Eowyn, despite the   
lady’s declarations she needed no one to watch her. Arwen had no doubt that when   
it was time to put their plan into action, Eowyn would be on her feet to take   
her place at their side or die trying. 

  


In the meantime, Arwen took some rest of her own, trying not   
think about the desperate circumstances that she and her companions were   
embroiled. Inevitably however, her mind would return to the fate of Eldarion and   
her hopes that Nunaur had managed to spirit him safely out of his father’s   
reach. It was almost obscene to Arwen that she would have to hide her son from   
Estel when he had proven himself time and time again, what an adoring father he   
was. She knew that it was only a spell that would have allow him to hurt   
Eldarion and she had no wish for him to wake up to that hell when this sad   
affair was behind them. It was bad enough that he would be mortified by what he   
had done to Eowyn, let alone how he would suffer if he discovered he had brought   
harm to his own son.

  


"I do not want to see Faramir until this is all over," Eowyn   
suddenly spoke.

  


Arwen looked across the floor at Eowyn was stretched out on the   
empty cot adjacent to her own. The shield maiden of Rohan had spoken very little   
in the last hour as both of them took comfort with their thoughts and allowed   
the events of the day to catch up with them. Eowyn’s eyes met hers and Arwen saw   
the fear she had so far managed to conceal from her companions, surfacing in all   
its ferocity.

  


"I cannot make you that promise," Arwen said softly, wishing   
she could.

  


"I know," Eowyn conceded her queen that much for not a great   
deal was within Arwen’s power to grant at this time, though she knew if it were   
possible that the elf would try to see it done. "I fear seeing him and how it   
would effect. I saw Melia was when she was forced to face Legolas. She was able   
to remain strong despite her feelings for him."

  


"And you fear that if you see Faramir, you will not?" Arwen   
ventured a guess.

  


"I do not know that I can fight if we are placed in such a   
position," Eowyn answered honestly. "How do you prevail after facing   
Aragorn?"

  


Arwen drew in a breath and steadied herself because there was a   
tidal wave of emotion inside her that craved expression and had been building   
since she first saw Estel and realized that he was no longer her king. There was   
a part of her that was almost as afraid as Eowyn, that perhaps Lothiriel may not   
be able to break the spell over him and that the stranger in his place would be   
all there was left of Aragorn Elessar. If he was dead, she could at least mourn   
him but taking him away from her in this manner would leave a wound that would   
bleed until the day she died. 

  


"I prevail the best I can," she whispered softly. "I felt him   
slip away you know. The moment the spell tore Estel away from me, I felt it. I   
felt the threads between us sever, one by one. It was a terrible feeling and now   
there is nothing but an emptiness where he used to be."

  


"I do not think I could endure such a void in my heart," Eowyn   
answered after a moment, shaken by the intense grief she detected in Arwen’s   
voice and understood how fragile was the veneer between control and collapse for   
the queen. "I never thought I could love after Pelennor but he was such a   
surprise and he still continues to be, this warrior with the heart of   
scholar."

  


Arwen knew about Eowyn’s love for Aragorn though they never   
spoke of it. In the beginning of their relationship, it had proved to be a   
formidable obstacle to their friendship. If Eowyn had asked, she would have been   
surprised to know that Arwen was more sympathetic of her feelings than she would   
have given the queen credit. After all, Arwen herself adored Aragorn, why should   
not another woman feel the same? However, Aragorn was too trustworthy for Arwen   
to doubt his feelings for her and he had tried not to hurt Eowyn’s feelings as   
best he could although in such affairs, there was always bound to be one party   
whose heart would be broken.

  


Fortunately, the outcome at Pelennor Fields had seen to it that   
Eowyn and Faramir were brought together and for the two, it was a fortunate   
meeting for they were very much suited for another. Both were so wounded by loss   
that they were able to find healing and love in each other’s company. At   
present, one could never think that Eowyn had loved anyone else by the sparkle   
in her eyes whenever she looked upon Faramir. 

  


"Eowyn," Arwen found herself compelled to speak. "We must face   
the possibility that the enemy will use our love for our husbands against us.   
Even Lothiriel is no longer invulnerable to this."

  


"Yes," Eowyn nodded in agreement on that point. "I saw how she   
looked when Eomer’s name was mentioned."

  


"Do you think that she is in love with him?" Arwen inquired   
because she, herself was uncertain, though she did not the affection emerging in   
the young woman’s heart for the King of the Mark.

  


"If this had not happened, I would say that it was most likely   
that she could have loved him, if she did not already. I know he was very taken   
with her but he was afraid."

  


"Because of this business of arranged marriages?" The queen   
asked.

  


"My brother did not want this girl to feel that she was   
obligated to wed him because of her father’s desires," Eowyn explained. "He had   
rather hoped that she would like him for himself, not out of duty."

  


"This entire affair came at very unfortunate time," Arwen   
frowned, not merely because of the overall plan of subterfuge over the leaders   
of Gondor but at the interference of the budding relationship between Eomer and   
Lothiriel. 

  


"To say the least," Eowyn shook her head. "I do not like this   
business of her being forced to marry him any more than you, even if is the   
nature of the things among noble families. When I was at Theoden’s court, I was   
almost in danger of being wedded to Saruman’s lackey. Certainly, he desired me   
enough to force the issue if he had been allowed the time to poison the king’s   
mind further. Fortunately for me, the Grey Pilgrim ended his reign at Meduseld   
and I saw spared that horror. Until this day, I do not know what I would have   
done if Theoden had given me to him."

  


"Knowing you, the Wormtongue would have reason to regret it,"   
Arwen replied.

  


Eowyn did not appear as certain and took a few seconds before   
she responded, "I do not know. I am what I am but I was also a loyal sister   
daughter of Theoden and I cannot say that I would have defied him. In any case,   
Eomer would have ensured I never had to make that choice, even at the risk to   
himself. That is why it is so hard for him to accept Lothiriel under such   
circumstances."

  


"He does not want to be like Wormtongue," the queen guessed   
accurately.

  


"No he does not," Eowyn replied with a little smile. "And I   
love all the more for it."

  


**************

  


Lothiriel and Melia returned not long after this, having   
acquired the items the young lady of Dol Amroth needed for their spell. It was   
decided that they would enter the palace once more through the library, since it   
appeared the most expedient way into the White Tower and Arwen had to assume   
that their pursuers would not imagine they would take the same route to make   
another into the court of Telecontari. Despite this seemingly easy entry into   
the palace, none of them were mistaken about the danger involved in this plan.   
Eowyn had insisted to accompany them even though she was far from mended but the   
lady of Ithilien was far too stubborn to wait in safety while others risked   
themselves for her.

  


  
Thus at the height of the evening, shortly before midnight,   
the women set out from their refuge once again, prepared to pit themselves   
against the darkness that encompassed the White Tower. The celebration as   
anticipated, was still going strong, with no signs of abating. Arwen who was   
becoming accustomed to such occasions since she had taken her place as Queen of   
Gondor, knew that the revelry could continue well until dawn and was grateful   
this in the event they needed to make a swift escape. The stables were   
relatively silent at this time of night and Arwen decided that would be the best   
place for Lothriel to conduct her spell to break the enchantment. 

  


Arwen’s elven senses were capable of telling her that no one   
was lying in wait to ambush them, when the four women returned to the library.   
As an added measure, they had stolen some of the clothes they had found in the   
guardhouse and disguised themselves as best they could. Fortunately, no one   
would be paying too close attention when they finally emerged from the library.   
The only one who could not be disguised in this manner was Melia. Due to her   
obviously different racial background, she could not pass for a Gondorian and   
chose to forego the effort of a disguise.

  


  
Taking the passages frequented by servants, they made their   
way into the guest wing where the Easterling entourage was in residence.   
Wandering into the heart of what was enemy territory was dangerous to say the   
least but they had little choice in the matter. For the subject to be delivered   
into their hands, they needed a suitable disguise that would allow them to get   
close enough to him to manage this minor miracle and unfortunately, it was not a   
disguise that would be served by a guard’s uniform. 

  


"Why does it have to be me?" Melia grumbled once they had   
slipped into rooms inhabited by the Easterling dancers during their stay in the   
White Tower. Fortunately, the dancers were out entertaining the guests at the   
banquet and would not interrupt them while they did what was necessary. 

  


"Because you are an Easterling," Arwen said impatiently as she   
helped Melia into the brightly colored though somewhat revealing costume. 

  


"Behind a veil who could tell?" The ranger snorted in dislike   
as she pinned the dreaded garment in place across her face. The gossamer like   
fabric fluttered slightly when she spoke and only offered a faint outline of her   
jaw and little else.

  


"The rest of you is not behind a veil," the queen added.   
"Unfortunately, the two of us do not have the coloring required to maintain such   
a deception and Lothiriel is needed to prepare her spell."

  


"Besides you are a Ranger, blending in should be easy, even in   
that costume," Eowyn declared from where she was at the door, keeping watch that   
they were not discovered. "My bruises will raise questions and Arwen has a face   
any man would be able to tell from a thousand leagues away."

  


"Thank you," Arwen cast the shield maiden a look as Melia   
continued to dress making certain that they knew her displeasure. "I think."

  


"Oh wonderful," Melia complained further as she examined   
herself in the mirror and felt like she was transported back in time to the days   
when she was required to dress like this. She had gratefully left this aspect of   
her life behind in the Sunlands, with no regrets at all. The fact that she was   
forced to dress like this again raised her ire to no end. "It is indecent to be   
this exposed! I did not like dressing this way when I was growing up and I like   
it even less here. Why cannot we just hit him over the head and drag him   
away?"

  


"Because," Eowyn said sweetly, "that would be difficult to go   
unnoticed in a room full of guests, including the king, my husband and no doubt   
a large number of shape shifters who are no doubt in the palace by now."

  


"I do this under strong protest," Melia frowned supposing that   
there was no other alternative. This was the best way to catch their prey.   
Alone, he was vulnerable. 

  


"I do not know why," Eowyn returned. "You did not have this   
much difficulty when you were attempting to seduce that Uruk Hai in Nargothrond,   
I assumed distracting him would be simpler."

  


"I am a Ranger, ask me to shoot a boar or die in the service of   
my queen and I would be happy to do so, flirting with a Rohirrim lord is above   
and beyond the call of duty." 

  


"Varda give me strength!" Arwen hissed. "Melia you know what is   
at stake here…."

  


"I know, I know," the ranger threw her hands up in a gesture of   
defeat on this subject. "It has to be this way but if he is ever freed from this   
spell, I honestly do not know which of us will be more embarrassed."

  


"Over the spell or what you are wearing?" Eowyn teased. 

  


Arwen rolled her eyes and saw Lothiriel who did not feel quite   
brave enough to become caught in the banter between the two, giving her a rather   
sympathetic look. At the moment, Arwen could certainly use it.

  


***********

  


When Melia emerged into the banquet hall, she had never thought   
she could feel so alone in a room full of people. Her presence hardly raised a   
brow for her costume was very effective and she was one of many dancers that   
were scattered around the room, following the conclusion of the entertainment   
for the evening. As customary for this part of the evening, the guests had   
abandoned the formal seating around the tables and were mingling amongst   
themselves throughout the room. There was enough mead and strong spirits served   
to ensure that everyone was on their way to becoming extremely inebriated. She   
could see Gimli the dwarf engaging in this whole heatedly. 

  


Musicians were playing cheerful tunes and inspiring some of the   
guests were dancing, while others were laughing in conversation and the mood of   
the evening was certainly descending into a debauchery. Others were watching the   
fireworks from the balcony and to the casual observer, it appeared nothing was   
amiss in White Tower. Melia wondered how many of the faces before her were truly   
guests of Gondor and not skin changers attempting to destroy Middle earth from   
within.

  


  
It did not take long for Melia to sight the king, for he   
was remained seated at the banquet table with his queen at his side. Melia was   
forced to hide how shaken she was at the sight of the skin changer that had   
assumed Arwen’s form. The king was reacting to the imposter in the same manner   
that Aragorn treated Arwen when his mind was still his own. The adoration in his   
eyes almost appeared real and affected Melia more deeply then anything she had   
seen since this whole situation had began. Beside the king and queen, the   
Easterling rulers kept a vigil on the floor and incited Melia to discontinue her   
staring.

  


She turned away after a moment, unable to stomach it when she   
saw that Arwen was not the only form the shape shifters had stolen. Next to   
Faramir, she saw the facsimile of Eowyn seated beside the Prince of Ithilien and   
was grateful that Legolas was absent. She did not think he could stomach it if   
she saw him with a copy of herself. Fortunately, the Prince was nowhere to be   
seen although she saw Imrahil in the gathering and Eomer was holding court with   
a number of minor nobles from the outer Gondorian lands.

  


Drawing in a deep breath for she did not wish to be here any   
longer than she should, Melia sauntered across the room, reminding herself how   
the women of her culture were meant to behave. No one paid her any heed since   
she did not appear to be all that different from the other dancers who were   
presently entertaining of the men in the banquet hall like courtesans instead of   
dancers. Melia frowned inwardly, supposing that it would serve her purpose in   
this instance to be counted as such.

  


**********

  


Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood and the lord of Eden Ardhon could   
sense his wife. Their souls were linked from the moment they had given   
themselves to each other in the physical expression of their love. He had   
remained in the suite of rooms, having no desire for celebration after she had   
wounded him during their encounter. A well of anger rose within him as he   
thought of her betrayal of his good friend Aragorn and wondered how he could   
have been so foolish to trust her. The Easterlings were right, he thought as he   
rose from his bed and limped to the door, to issue warning to the guards that   
his traitorous wife had returned to the palace.

  


Strange, he never used to think well of the Easterlings. He   
supposed meeting them face to face had changed his mind somewhat about their   
customs. When Melia had first told him about the peculiar habits of Easterling   
culture, he had found them reprehensible but he no longer felt that way. When   
Legolas attempted to pierce the reasoning that made him change his mind so   
drastically, he was confronted with a thick cloud of confusion that was   
difficult to penetrate. Suddenly, he felt as if he needed guidance, though he   
could not imagine why he would need such a thing to make up his mind on   
anything.

  


Shaking the puzzled emotions running through his brain, the   
prince focussed his thoughts on the fact that his wife was close by and this   
time he did not intend to let her slip away. She needed to be reminded that he   
was her lord and master and that her allegiance should be to him first, not the   
Evenstar. The Evenstar was not worthy of such loyalty, not after stealing   
Aragorn’s son with the intention of spiriting Gondor’s heir behind the walls of   
Imladris where the king would never again lay eyes upon his own child. Legolas   
felt ashamed that a member of his own race could be party to such treachery   
though he never thought the Evenstar was capable of such deceit prior to   
this.

  


It appeared he was deceived about a great number of things of   
late. 

  


He pulled open the door, preparing to sound the alarm when   
suddenly, standing before him was none other than the Evenstar and the lady of   
Ithilien.

  


"Evenstar…," he started to say. 

  


"Not a word old friend," Arwen’s blade was against his throat   
in a matter of seconds.

  


"You will not kill me," Legolas said defiantly, challenging her   
to make her move.

  


"I do not have to kill you to make you obey," she hissed and   
grabbed his injured leg before squeezing mercilessly. 

  


Legolas cried out as the arrow wound inflicted by Melia made   
itself felt most fully. The injury was still fresh and the only reason that he   
was not in the House of Healing was because he did not think it serious enough   
to warrant a stay there when his own bed in the palace would suffice.   
Unfortunately, the pain coursing through his leg made him wish otherwise as he   
staggered backwards into the room with his unwanted guests slipping inside   
quickly before they were discovered.

  


"Arwen you are amazing," Eowyn replied with no small hint of   
admiration in her voice as she saw Arwen advancing upon the elven prince who was   
bracing himself against a chair from the queen’s ministrations. "I did not think   
it was possible to trick him."

  


"Trick me?" Legolas stared at her in question, his face   
contorted in pain as he made his demand.

  


"By sending Melia into the banquet hall, I ensured that you   
would sense her and not us," Arwen replied as Eowyn slipped past her and   
approached Legolas cautiously. Arwen kept her sword against his throat, ensuring   
that he did not attempt anything foolish as Eowyn prepared to gag him. "We   
needed a subject and since you were injured, I guessed that you would be here   
recuperating since your skin changer masters would undoubtedly prefer that you   
remain close by."

  


"Skin changers?" Legolas managed to say before a cloth was tied   
around his mouth, muffling anything else he might have said in reaction. The gag   
made him struggle but Arwen’s blade cutting into skin, made certain that   
whatever resistance he made was brief. It was not long before he was bound as   
well as gagged though neither woman could believe that he would make their   
escape form the palace any easier. 

  


"He will not go quietly and we must move quickly if we are to   
get him out of here," Eowyn replied.

  


"I know," Arwen nodded and looked around. She saw a ewer and a   
goblet on a table and crossed the floor quickly to obtain the former. The ewer   
was heavy but not so solid that it could cause irreparable damage, though her   
estimation of this was uncertain at best. Without giving Legolas any warning,   
she smashed the ceramic object against the back of his neck and dropped him to   
the floor without further protest. The prince lay on the carpeted floor very   
much unconscious but infinitely more manageable than before. 

  


"Let us go while we can," Arwen declared as she brushed her   
hands of the remaining fragments and leaned over to pick up the prince.

  


"I hope Melia’s part in all this is as smooth as this one,"   
Eowyn remarked.

  


*************

  


 

  


Melia did not know how much time had passed but she prayed that   
it was enough for Arwen’s gambit to succeed. The need to depart the banquet hall   
was overwhelming and after fending off the intentions of a drunken Eomer and   
fighting her way through more than a dozen amorous suitors, Melia decided that   
enough time had lapsed and it was time for her to be going. Personally, it could   
not be soon enough for she detested this whole charade she was playing. However,   
if was the only way of reaching her Prince, Melia was compelled to try, no   
matter how much she loathed dressing up in this manner.

  


As anonymously as she swept through the banquet hall, Melia   
made her exit just as covertly. No one was looking closely at the dancers and   
the nature of the costume ensured that no one would be looking at her face   
either. It appeared as if she had successfully survived her part in the plan   
when she found herself leaving the door to the banquet hall behind her. 

  


Suddenly out of nowhere, a hand clenched around her arm and   
halted Melia in her steps. Her breath caught and she looked up to find herself   
staring into the face of the Easterling general Castigliari. 

  


"Lady Melia," he said quietly even though they were alone in   
the corridor, "I think it is time you and I had a talk."

  



	8. Chapter Seven: Unmaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of a signing a historic treaty with the Easterlings that will ensure peace, Aragorn and the other leaders of Middle earth find themselves trapped by a spell that bends their will to the purpose of the beautiful Easterling queen. As enemy troops began to move into Minas Tirith, it is up to Arwen, Eowyn and the newly arrived Lothiriel of Dol Amroth to find a way to break the spell before the enemy accomplishes what Sauron could not, the talking of the White City and Middle earth with it. .

Despite being unconscious, removing the Prince of Mirkwood from   
the confines of his room to the stables were Lothiriel awaited to begin her   
spell of unmaking was no easy feat. Unconscious, he was a dead weight in their   
arms and it was nearly impossible to move through the halls of the White Tower   
appearing inconspicuous. While they were dressed as palace guards, Arwen and   
Eowyn knew their disguise was fragile to say the least and could only succeed if   
no one paid to close attention to them. Unfortunately, it was difficult to   
maintain such anonymity when carrying an unconscious elf in their arms.   
Fortunately, it appeared that the guards on duty were keeping watch for four   
women, not two guards supposedly taking a drunken elf back to his suite.

  


  


Upon reaching the kitchens, they found that it was not as   
peopled as before since most of the meals for the banquet had been served and   
the servants and cooks were either in attendance at the great hall or had gone   
to enjoy the festivities themselves. It was just as well for neither Arwen nor   
Eowyn wished an audience as they descended into the sewer passages that would   
take them out of the palace, without further observation by even the unknowing   
onlooker. As they slowly descended into the dark and rancid depths, Arwen   
ensured while one hand was wrapped securely around Legolas, the other was   
resting on the hilt of the weapon. Thanks to the acuteness of elven senses,   
Arwen was certain that the instant the terrible smell of the sewer assaulted his   
senses, Legolas would be roused from his unconscious state.

  


  


"I am worried," Arwen declared as they found themselves   
surrounded by darkness and the fetid stench of their filthy surroundings. 

  


  


She could not see Eowyn’s face clearly but Arwen saw the lady   
of Ithilien nod slightly, "Melia should have joined us by now."

  


  


"Do you think she has been captured?" Arwen asked fearfully as   
they carefully navigated the narrow walkway, avoiding the canal of rancid water   
that flowed viscously beside it.

  


  


"I hope not," Eowyn answered quietly, but could not add   
anything further that would discount that possibility. "We are in no position to   
help her if she has fallen into their hands," she said gravely.

  


  


"Then we must ensure that Lothiriel’s spell of unmaking comes   
to pass," Arwen stated firmly, investing her hope on that possibility if the   
worst had befallen Melia.

  


  


Eowyn did not comment but it preyed upon her mind that if Melia   
were indeed captured, the enemy had no reason to keep her alive. A skin changer   
could easily replace the former Ranger of Angmar and the Lady of Eden Ardhon and   
no one would raise a question of doubt except the husband who was already their   
creature. Unfortunately, the reality of the situation meant that even if Eowyn   
and Arwen were to abandon their plans to provide Lothiriel with a subject for   
her spell, there was no assurance they could reach Melia in time to help her.   
Assuming of course, that Melia had fallen into the enemy’s power and was not   
simply delayed in her efforts to join them. 

  


  


Eowyn’s attempt to respond was abruptly cut short when she felt   
Legolas stirring in their grasp. Considering how much stronger elves were in   
comparison to men, Eowyn braced herself to be physically tested when the Prince   
regained his senses. Legolas was not only an elf and superior woodsman but he   
was also a battle hardened warrior who had seen more battles in his time then   
either Eowyn and even Arwen could even begin to imagine. He was a member of the   
Fellowship and even injured, he would be difficult to restrain. 

  


  
"Arwen," Eowyn opened her mouth to warn the queen.

  


  


"I know," Arwen responded automatically, sensing the same   
stirrings from the prince of Mirkwood, far sooner than Eowyn herself had felt   
it. 

  


  


Like her human companions, Arwen strengthen her hold upon the   
prince, bracing herself for the inevitable struggle that would arise once he   
awoke and realized that he was their prisoner. Arwen had no intention of   
attempting to use reason with him because she knew that nothing she said to him   
would penetrate the cloak placed over his mind by his shape shifting masters. It   
was just as well that Melia was absent, Arwen thought to herself. Legolas’ state   
of mind once he was awake would not be pleasant.

  


  


When the prince finally regained consciousness, he raised his   
head wearily and swept his gaze across his surroundings with confused   
expression. The shadow of his enforced slumber was still upon his mind and it   
took a few seconds before it could clear enough for him to understand where he   
was. Arwen knew that this realization was being hastened by the assault upon his   
senses thanks to their present route out of the palace. Like her, his sharp   
elven senses was not an advantage in this dank and stinking sewer.

  


  


"Where am I?" He muttered groggily as he became more aware of   
his surroundings. 

  


  


Arwen debated answering him even though she knew nothing could   
prevent the ugly scene about to follow. Eowyn met her gaze with the same   
question in her eyes. 

  


  


"You are with us Legolas," Arwen answered finally with some   
hesitation. 

  


  


"With you?" He raised his head and met her eyes. 

  


  


As soon as it was made aware to him in whose custody he was,   
Arwen felt his muscles tighten and his eyes narrow in calculation. He was   
preparing for a fight and Arwen had no wish to conduct one in this place. Her   
sword was unsheathed before she could even form the thought and took advantage   
of the sluggishness he had yet to discard. Drawing a sword on her old friend was   
hard but no harder she supposed than facing her husband and knowing that he was   
a stranger beyond her reach. After today, nothing in Arwen’s universe would ever   
be so black and white again.

  


  


"Do not struggle Legolas," Arwen’s word were measured but   
hiding the thick vein of anger that wanted expression. "We are going to help you   
though you may not believe it at this time."

  


  


"Help me?" He snorted derisively. "You have abducted me Madam,   
just as you abducted your son and made yourself a fugitive in your former   
kingdom!"

  


  


"I did not abduct my son," Arwen returned shortly, reminding   
herself that Legolas’ mind was not his own. Every word he uttered was tainted by   
the skin changer’s poison in his body. "I simply removed him from his father’s   
reach."

  


  


"You cannot hide him from the king forever," Legolas hissed.   
"When the treaty celebration is over, he will send an army to Imladris to claim   
what is his."

  


  


The threat to Imladris was clear and it raised some measure of   
alarm within her. However, no army had ever been able to breach Imladris since   
its establishment because of Elrond’s power over the Ford of Bruinen. Despite   
his departure from Middle earth, he had ensured that Imladris would always be   
protected until the elves dwelt no longer there. Arwen had no doubt that if the   
skin changers were foolish enough to send Aragorn on such a quest, they would   
have cause to regret it.

  


  


"You know as well as I that he will never enter Imladris with   
an army," Arwen retorted. "Besides, I intend to see to it that this situation   
never reaches that point."

  


  


"None of it is in your control, Evenstar," Legolas glared at   
her. "You have only three companions at your side while he is the King of Gondor   
with the lords of Middle earth ready to lay their lives down for him, what   
chance do you think you have?"

  


  


"A far better one than you believe," Eowyn declared. "Or what   
you are forced to believe."

  


  


"You still believe that we are under a spell?" He started to   
laugh. "What delusion you women have. The Easterlings are indeed correct that we   
have allowed our women too much freedom in the past."

  


  


"Search yourself Legolas," Arwen said sharply, feeling her   
anger splitting at the seams when she heard him speak that way. It was a far cry   
from the elf she had known for so long, the one with unmeasured kindness as well   
as a heart too reasonable to be won over by just prejudices. "Did you always   
feel this way? What could have happened to alter your thinking so   
radically?"

  


  


Legolas blinked and for a moment, Arwen could almost see the   
confusion rising to the surface of his blue eyes. It was only brief but it was   
clear that she had unsettled him. 

  


  


"Your words are meaningless to me," he retorted. "I have always   
thought this way."

  


  


"It was you who taught me how to use a bow and arrow Legolas,"   
Arwen reminded him. "Remember? I was but a century old and my father did not   
believe it proper that a lady of Imladris should use a weapon. Remember how you   
told me that it was foolishness to be unable to protect oneself, even if there   
was no need to do. We went to that glade near the river and you showed me how.   
You told me that the art of using a bow was not to think of it as a weapon…"

  


  


"But an extension of oneself," Legolas whispered. 

  


  


"Yes," she declared, her heart swelling with hope at his   
memory. "You do remember!"

  


  


"NO!" He balked violently. "I was wrong! I did not know   
better!"

  


  


Arwen felt a wave of disappointment and supposed that she   
should not have imagined that it would be so easy. After all, she was battling   
with words a spell with far more substance then that of simply memory. However,   
it did console her somewhat to see that the foundation of his belief had been   
shaken by that recollection. A fracture had appeared in the belief that his   
thoughts were entirely his own. 

  


  


"It is not your fault," Eowyn said sympathetically. "Your mind   
is not your own Prince Legolas. It has not been for some time now."

  


  


"I know my mind!" He shouted back and tried to struggle against   
their vice like grip upon him but to no avail. Both women were prepared for his   
resistance and Arwen’s blade against his throat was a sharp reminder of his   
situation. 

  


  


"I am certain that you believe you do," Arwen replied as they   
continued down the darkened passageway, "but that is not so. Your mind has not   
been yours since the signing of the treaty. I knew the exact moment when it was   
taken away because I felt it."

  


  


"I am no one’s creature!" He declared, repeating the words she   
had heard from Aragorn when she had first confronted him about his sudden change   
in personality. Arwen wondered if this too was a part of the spell, that when   
confronted with the possibility of being under the control of another, the   
victim was to produce the same litany of words to convince himself   
otherwise.

  


  


"Do not worry Legolas," she said quietly. "It will not be for   
long."

  


  
Inwardly, she prayed that she was not making an idle claim   
because this was a gamble they could not afford to lose.

  


  


*********  


  


  


 

  


Melia’s first impulse was to run.

  


  


Unfortunately his grip around her arm was strong and she did   
not relish the commotion that would result in her efforts to escape. When she   
had chosen to embark upon this charade, she had been forced to relinquish her   
crossbow and venture unarmed into the maw of danger. Never did she feel its loss   
more acutely than at present, when she was facing an enemy that knew he had her   
at a disadvantage. Melia could not imagine how he had seen through her disguise   
but supposed a general of his years would be difficult to fool in any instance.   


  


  


"Let me go or pay the price," she hissed as her eyes darted   
about trying to see if anyone had noticed the scene between them. Fortunately,   
for the moment it appeared they were alone in the corridor but Melia was not   
about to assume that she was in any less danger. 

  


  


"Pay the price?" He stared at her with a serious expression on   
his face, not at all derisive or triumphant, as one would expect of someone in   
his position. "I think it is you who are in a position of greater vulnerability   
than I, Lady Melia."

  


  


"That is a matter of perspective," she retorted, still   
struggling to remove herself from his clutches. "Do not doubt that I will not   
kill you if I have to. It may sound an alarm but I am capable of this, I promise   
you. You certainly deserve it after what you have done."

  


  


"I make no excuses for my choices," the general said in a low   
voice. "I do not doubt that a daughter of Hezare cannot make good on your threat   
but I do not wish to harm you, only to talk."

  


  


"Talk?" She stared at him. "What do we have to discuss?"

  


  


"That I would be happy to reveal," he returned quietly,   
stealing glances around them with just as much caution as she, "at the   
appropriate time. I ask you to trust me."

  


  


"When skin changers are involved, trust is difficult thing to   
give," Melia answered a little unsure of what she should do. Castigliari could   
well be a skin changer attempting to discern the whereabouts of her companions.   
However, if this were the case, why did he reveal himself to her? It would be   
far simpler to follow her unnoticed and discover that information himself. 

  


  


"I know," he said earnestly. "I cannot make your choice any   
easier, not after what has taken place but I do not wish you harm and I must be   
allowed to speak."

  


  


Melia swallowed thickly, wishing she had more than her   
instincts to rely upon in this decision because so much weighed upon it.   
Unfortunately, that was not to be and she could not remain in this corridor any   
longer because eventually, someone would stumble upon them and wonder what was   
transpiring. She made a secret vow that she would not compromise her friends but   
she would give him the audience that he was so desperate to have. 

  


  


"Let us leave this place for somewhere more private," Melia   
replied after a moment.

  


  


Castigliari’s face revealed his relief at her agreement to talk   
but Melia was unprepared to shirk her suspicions that he was not leading her   
into a trap, or that he was not a skin changer. She had no special senses like   
the elves, to be able to tell if he was deceiving her and that left her feeling   
vulnerable, not to mention unsettled as well. The general kept his grip on her   
as he prompted her into movement. They left the banquet hall and moved across   
the White Tower before finally reaching their destination in the gardens   
outside.

  


  


"What do you want?" Melia demanded as soon as they were alone.   
Over head, the night sky was bursting with color as fireworks stretched across   
the canvas in bright flame. 

  


  
"I need to see the queen," he spoke after a moment using   
the tongue of the Harradirim for fear of being overhead. It was no easy thing   
for him to betray his king but Castigliari could tell that this alliance with   
the skin changers was at the peril of not only the leaders of Middle earth but   
all the Easterling people, not just those of Far Harad.

  


  


"That is not within my power to grant you," Melia responded,   
conceding to his desire to speak the language of Harad. Still, she had no   
intention of betraying Arwen, even if she believed Castigliari did not mean them   
harm.

  


  


"I must see her to tell her what is happening," the general   
repeated.

  


  


"We have manage to learn that all by ourselves," Melia retorted   
harshly. "We have no need of your counsel in this matter."

  


  


"I think you are wrong," he declared. "You do not know what   
they have planned. You do not know the full scope of their intentions here in   
Gondor."

  


  


"I know that they are skin changers," she replied. "That the   
Easterlings have allied themselves with skin changers."

  


  


"That is not true," Castigliari returned, appearing a little   
stunned that she knew so much. "Ulfrain has allied himself with the skin   
changers. My people have no idea what walks among them."

  


  


Melia stared at him in shock, taken back by that snippet of   
news. "How could you not know?" She demanded.

  


  


"Ulfrain made the alliance," Castigliari explained, "the   
Haradirim and the rest of Easterling confederacy has no knowledge of their   
existence. I myself did not know until your king and his council were poisoned   
by the sektari."

  


  


"Sektari?" Melia’s eyes widened familiar with that particular   
concoction. It was a favorite during times of celebration and extremely   
difficult to come by. "That is the agent that allows this spell to take charge   
of them?"

  


  


"Yes," Castigliari nodded. "When Ulfrain brought it with us, I   
thought it to be nothing more than a delicacy for our western neighbors. It   
never occurred to me that it could have any other use."

  


  
"It was tainted," Melia mused, able to imagine how things   
had unfolded following the signing of the treaty. Lothiriel had been correct.   
They had drunk a toast to their alliance, unaware that the contents of their   
goblets were tainted and would make them slaves to another creature’s will.   
Catching a glimpse at the haunted look in Castigliari’s eyes, she knew what had   
transpired was almost as great a shock to him as it had been to the victims.   


  


  


"It tasted different," Castigliari turned away for poison was a   
most dishonorable method of gaining victory over one’s enemies. The Haradirim   
believed that meeting the enemy face to face was the only honorable way of   
combat. Poison was the tool of a coward and no Haradirim or Easterling for that   
matter would employ such methods unless they were completely devoid of honor or   
worse yet, Orcs. 

  


  


"So they killed Ulfrain and took his place at the treaty?"   
Melia asked.

  


  


Castigliari did not meet her eyes but answered softly, "no,   
Ulfrain is still himself. He is not a skin changer. What he has done, he has   
done of his own will. He sought to make an alliance with the skin changers so   
that we would not be forced to bow down to the Gondorian king. He is proud like   
the rest of my people; he believed that accepting Gondorian aid was nothing less   
than submitting to defeat. He made the alliance and told no one of if mostly   
because he knew our people would be less inclined to suffer the power of another   
dark race as it was made to suffer the Orcs because of Sauron."

  


  


"Then who is it?" Melia demanded wit some measure of confusion.   
The skin changers would not be foolish enough to leave everything in Ulfrain’s   
hand. She had believed the skin changer would have been Castigliari but if the   
general was not the one, then who else was left?

  


  


"Akallabeth," he answered. "It is Akallabeth who is the skin   
changer."

  


  


Of course, Melia realized. Who else would it be? It made   
perfect sense now that she knew. Akallabeth’s subservient manner which had no   
other purpose then to engender a feeling of sympathy from everyone present,   
particularly the women. Ulfrain’s arrogant manner and his narrow minded view of   
what women should be and how he demanded such archaic behavior from his wife,   
who should have been treated as a queen but had less freedom then a slave. All   
of it had been part and parcel of the deception, manufactured solely for the   
purpose of producing every emotion, except suspicion. How blind they had   
been.

  


He saw the realization in her face and sympathized with her   
feelings. When he had learnt about Akallabeth, he had been gripped by similar   
emotions but by then it was too late to do anything about it. Castigliari was   
more realistic than his king at why the skin changers had chosen them to   
approach with their alliance. The people of Far Harad in the eyes of the world   
were a defeated people; a broken remnant of Sauron’s decayed influence in Middle   
earth. So many assumed that without the dark lord to do their thinking for them,   
that they were people without direct and hope, that they would latch onto the   
first glimmer of power that came their way. Castigliari did not know what hurt   
him more; the fact that it was true or that Ulfrain had believed it.

  


  


"I know that the skin changers have no greater preference for   
us then they do the lords of the western lands. They are motivated by vengeance   
and by conquest and my people are but a tool for them. Ulfrain thinks he is   
saving us but he has only made it easy for them to conquer us. When they are   
done with the Reunified Kingdom and its allies, I am certain that the skin   
changers will turn their attention to the Southrons and we will be in the same   
position as we are now. I have spent my entire life fighting for the Haradirim,   
I will not see the tyranny of Sauron replaced by that of the skin changers."

  


  


"Your speech is convincing general," Melia looked at him,   
unprepared to discard her suspicions about him just yet, even if she was   
granting him this audience. "However, words are not enough to convince me of   
your intentions. I will not bring you to my queen unless you are able to give me   
good reason to do so."

  


  


"I understand your hesitation," he confessed. "In your   
position, I would act no differently. However, you and your queen do not have a   
great deal of time. By the time the sun rises tomorrow, your king and all the   
leaders of Middle earth will be dead."

  


  


"Dead?" Melia’s eyes widened in shock, "what do you mean?"

  


  


"I mean that Akallabeth’s people are already in the palace and   
their plan is to kill all the lords of Middle earth and take their place. They   
intend to do it following the banquet. Why do you think they were so insistent   
that you women were restrained? When the queen threatened to take her tale to   
the war masters, Akallabeth had no choice but to act. The plan had been to take   
charge of King Elessar and his council, to use them as puppets until the rest of   
the skin changers were in the palace and capable of assuming their forms. Arwen   
was the only danger to that plan and that is why Akallabeth moved to restrain   
her. Unfortunately, I do not think she counted on your queen being so   
resourceful."

  


  
Melia did not speak for a few seconds because what she   
learnt was too horrible to contemplate. Hours, they had only hours to resolve   
this nightmare or else the men that they cared for would meet a brutal end.   
Under normal circumstances, Melia would hardly worry about any of them for each   
was formidable in their own way but this spell had taken away their ability to   
fight. They were helpless and they did not even know that they were being led to   
the slaughter. 

  


  


She thought of Aragorn, the man to whom she had sworn her life   
and her allegiance. Even though she was now the wife of his best friend, Melia   
would always be a Ranger at heart and the constraints of that former duty   
compelled her to defend her king no matter what the consequences. What of Gimli,   
who was Legolas’ friend and companions, who had made her first days as the wife   
to an elven lord bearable by his humor and irascible nature. She could not bear   
to lose Gimli any more than she could bear to lose Legolas. Eowyn would never   
recover if she lost either Eomer or Faramir and Lothiriel would be similarly   
crushed if she lost her father, Imrahil. It could not be allowed! They had to do   
something!

  


  


"If you are deceiving me general," Melia shot him a look of   
pure venom, "there is nowhere on this earth that you can hide that I will not   
find you and make you pay."

  


  


"I would not be foolish enough to incur the wrath of Hezare’s   
daughter," he said earnestly. "You know now what is to be, what does your queen   
intend?"

  


  


"I will not discuss it with you," she returned. "I do not wish   
to keep you in the dark but you must understand how vulnerable you are. If you   
are right and we have only one chance to stop this, then I cannot risk taking   
you into our confidence. You are an experienced war master, you know that this   
is true."

  


  


"I do," he nodded. "I suppose the only thing that I can say is   
that when it comes time for the Evenstar to act against them, she can count on   
my assistance."

  


  


"I will be sure to tell her that," Melia answered. "You should   
return to the banquet before you are missed."

  


  


"And you?" Castigliari met her eyes. 

  


  


Melia exhaled deeply before she responded, "I have to tell my   
queen that we need a new plan." 

  


  


************

  


  


 

  


When they finally emerged into the fresh air once more, it felt   
as if they had spent an eternity of time in the sewers. Captor and captive took   
hungry breaths of sweet air once it was made available to them, taking it into   
their lungs in greedy gulps in an effort to wash away the rancid stench they had   
been forced to endure during their passage beneath the White Tower. Legolas had   
not given them much difficulty during their journey and Arwen suspected that his   
injury was impeding him far more than he liked to believe. Wounds to the leg   
could be deadly if the arrow struck the correct place and Melia had been forced   
to shoot her husband in close quarters during their confinement. 

  


  


"What do you intend to do with me?" Legolas demanded rather   
wearily once they began their stealthy march towards the stables.

  


  


"Help you," Arwen said shortly and noticed that even in the   
moonlight, he seemed pale. She wondered if he would be able to endure the   
unmaking spell Lothiriel was preparing to carry out even as they spoke. 

  


  


"Help me?" He laughed maliciously, "if you wish to help me then   
perhaps you should let me go."

  


  


"Legolas," Arwen sighed, not wishing to launch into another   
diatribe of convincing him that he was under the control of a shape shifter,   
especially when a spell prevented him for giving anything she said credence.   
"You and I have known each other for longer than some kingdoms have lived in   
this world, I would never harm you or allow you to be harmed in any way, but I   
will save you from yourself, no matter what you believe."

  


  


"It is not use Arwen," Eowyn replied impatiently. "He is too   
much their creature to believe anything."

  


  


"You are right that I do not believe you," Legolas retorted.   
"But I am no one’s slave."

  


  


Eowyn rolled her eyes in resignation and Arwen shook her head   
in similar distaste. Neither could blame the prince for his behavior for it was   
not his fault. Arwen was rather grateful that Melia was no here to see her   
beloved husband in this condition, although she prayed that the Ranger was   
already at the stables awaiting them. The fate of Melia preyed heavily on her   
mind and Arwen knew that should she fall into enemy hands, they would   
undoubtedly kill her since there was no reason to keep her alive. 

  


  


As if aware of what she was thinking, Legolas suddenly spoke   
up, "where is my wife? I thought she would chose to accompany you in this   
display of defiance. After all, disobeying her husband and her family seems to   
be a habit with her."

  


  


"She will be along presently," Arwen said through gritted   
teeth, hating it immensely that Legolas could speak with such malice. The spell   
that had changed the prince ensured that his soul was tainted with their cruelty   
since she could not imagine anything so dark existing inside her old friend.

  


  


"Where is she?" Legolas asked, noting the slight tremor in her   
voice when she spoke of Melia. 

  


  


"That is not your concern," Eowyn declared hotly but the truth   
was, the lady of Ithilien was just as concerned as Arwen regarding the fate of   
the Ranger. She should have caught up to them by now and her continued absence   
made them both extremely nervous. 

  


  


"She is my wife," Legolas hissed. "I am her lord and her   
husband. I have every right to know what she is doing."

  


  


"And I will be happy to oblige when the skin changers have   
discharge their control over your mind," Arwen declared, starting to feel her   
temper fray. "However for you own sake Prince of Mirkwood, I would advise you to   
be silent." 

  


  


She punctuated her sentence with a slight stab of her blade   
against his skin, reminding him most acutely that he was in no position to make   
demands of them.

  


  


Legolas fell silent but Arwen could sense the bristling of   
hatred in his gait. He had been manipulated to feel only dark emotions and she   
knew that if he were free to act, he would not hesitate to harm either her or   
Eowyn. Arwen had braced herself for the possibility that she may have to hurt   
him if he made such an attempt. It was not something she wanted to endure but   
Arwen would not be squeamish if forced into it. Fortunately, the prince chose to   
heed her advice and Arwen sensed that this was due to his physical condition   
rather than his belief in her determination regarding this matter. 

  


  


They arrived at the stables and found that Lothiriel had   
completed her preparations. She had cleared one of the stables of its hay,   
having brushed it clean until one could see the floor beneath. A circle of ochre   
was formed on the stone surface, laced with markings that Eowyn could not   
identify at all but Arwen was certain to be some ancient form of Sindarin. She   
was rather impressed that Lothiriel was able to read it but then the line of   
Imrahil and his forebears claim their lineage from the Silvan elf maid   
Mithrellas who journeyed with Nimrodel from the southern havens. Indeed   
Lothiriel’s beauty had almost an elvish quality about it, as would her meager   
powers as a sorceress. While she not a wizard for the only true Istari were   
Maiar spirits, Arwen believed Lothiriel might have the understanding needed to   
thwart the skin changer’s plan.

  


  


Provided the girl believed in herself enough to manage it.

  


"What is this?" Legolas became animated again when he saw what   
awaited him within the stables. Lothiriel was in the center of the circle,   
laying out the important ingredients needed to make the spell work. 

  


  


"Where is Melia?" Lothiriel asked nervously, trying not to pay   
too much attention to the subject for her spell of unmaking.

  


  


"She did not come back?" Arwen returned her question with one   
of her own. 

  


  


"No," Lothiriel shook her head. "I thought she would return   
with you."

  


  


Eowyn and Arwen exchanged a brief glance of concern but neither   
could do anything to change the situation as it stood with Melia but there was   
much to be done in regards to her husband. "We will have to deal with Melia’s   
fate later. We must tend to him first."

  


  


"Tend to him?" Legolas demanded struggling a little and making   
Eowyn glad that they had chosen to bind his hands behind his back before   
embarking on the journey here. "What do you intend to do to me!" 

  


  


"Nothing that will not hurt for too long," Eowyn retorted   
shortly, her temperament tested by the possibility that Melia might have come to   
harm. She helped Arwen escort the prince to the center of the circle and forced   
him to his knees, in front of an earthenware bowl.

  


  


"I am not certain I am able to do this," Lothiriel confessed,   
feeling more frightened than ever now that the moment was upon her.

  


  


Arwen stared at the girl, wishing she did not have to force the   
child into this position but they had no choice. Arwen knew nothing of magic and   
Pallando was too far away to be of any help. Lothiriel was all that they had in   
the way of a wizard and as much as it grieved Arwen to use her in this manner,   
they had no other choice. 

  


  


"Lothiriel," Arwen placed a hand upon her shoulder, "I wish I   
did not have to call upon you for this but you are all that stands between us   
and Middle earth descending into darkness. I know it is a terrible burden to   
place upon your shoulders but I have no choice, you are all that I have to stop   
this thing from happening. True magic does not come from books or from the   
ability to read spells, it comes from within, from your belief that you can   
change the nature of things. You cannot simply try your hand at magic, you must   
wield it and be responsible for it. You worked your magic in the past with the   
insecurity of a child and faltered. You are a woman grown, despite your   
sheltered upbringing. If you were not, you would not have endured what we have   
suffered tonight. You stood by us and fought alongside us when it would have   
been easier to surrender, that takes courage."

  


  


Lothiriel’s eyes glistened with emotion at the Evenstar’s   
words. "I will not fail you my queen," she said softly. "If I have to give my   
life to succeed, I will see this spell done."

  


  


"Good," Arwen smiled, aware that the girl meant it with all her   
heart and admired her strength despite her fear. "Now let us proceed."

  


  


*************

  


  


 

  


It was going better than the creature called Akallabeth had   
possibly believed.

  


  


Seated at the right hand of the Easterling king Ulfrain,   
Akallabeth felt a deep sense of satisfaction at the progress of the carefully   
laid plan that would reach fruition in a matter of hours. Before Akallabeth, lay   
the court of Gondor and the nobility of Middle earth, basking decadently in the   
celebration of the treaty that unknown to them was meaningless. They danced,   
drank, ate and flirted with each other in reckless abandon as the evening was   
driven deeper into the night. Some of them were human and some of them were not.   
It would surprise the lord of Middle earth to know just who amongst them were   
not what they appeared.

  


  
Certainly, the king did not feel this way as he sat next to   
his wife, displaying the usual adoration that King Elessar was known to show   
towards his beloved Undomiel, whom a short time ago had miraculously, appeared   
to him in his chambers and begged his forgiveness. Forgiveness that was easier   
to give after Akallabeth had whispered in his ear. The same was managed by   
Faramir with his wife Eowyn and thanks to the injury sustained by the Prince of   
Mirkwood, there was no need to produce a facsimile of the Easterling traitor,   
Melia. To court of Gondor, nothing was out of the ordinary and by dawn it would   
not matter that the real Evenstar and her companions were at large, their   
husbands would be long dead and the skin changers dominion over Middle earth   
would be assured.

  


  


It did annoy Akallabeth slightly that the queen and her   
companions appeared to be so elusive. While it was hardly surprising after their   
experiences with the Evenstar at Nargothrond, not even Akallabeth had imagined   
the queen could be such an enormous thorn in their sides. Fortunately,   
Akallabeth had constructed the plan to dominate Middle earth with a number of   
contingencies and those had slipped into place perfectly, despite the   
complications caused by the Evenstar. The skin changers had entered the city and   
taken their place at court. If the war masters of Gondor knew just how many   
shape shifters were inside the Citadel, they would surely raise an army and   
storm their own palace.

  


  


But they did not know and would not until it was too late.

  


  


The prospect of what the dawn would bring left Akallabeth with   
a deep sense of satisfaction that both vengeance and their desire to shape their   
own future were met. The Evenstar, who had destroyed their world when she had   
collapsed the caverns surrounding Nargothrond would find her own world similarly   
ruined. She would know how it was to be displaced and when her king lay dead at   
her feet and the lords of Middle earth turned their back on her as an imposter,   
Akallabeth would be there to finish what was left of the elf. It was something   
that Akallabeth looked forward to immensely as did the rest of the skin changers   
that were driven from Nargothrond.

  


  


There were so many plans to fulfil once the dawn broke. With   
their dominance over the Reunified Kingdom assured, they would wreak a bloody   
wave of conquest over the rest of Middle earth. There were elven enclaves that   
were ripe for the plucking now that the greater majority of the Eldar had sailed   
across the street. Former elven strongholds such as Imladris and Eryn Lasgalen   
were vulnerable, not to mention the newly established home of the Noldor elf,   
Celeborn. Once the elves were done away with, they would find the remnant of   
Aule’s children in Erebor. The Easterlings and Haradirim they would leave to   
last for their aid to the skin changers plans earned them that much. 

  


  


The sunrise would see the birth of a new black age. 

  


  


Akallabeth rather liked the irony of it. 

  


  


It was during all these grandiose ruminations that something   
disturbing happened. One of the threads that bound the mind of Akallabeth’s   
creatures tugged sharply in her consciousness. Blinking hard, the queen of the   
Haradirim looked about the room, trying to discern what had happened when that   
strange sensation made itself acutely felt. Gazing at the king of Gondor,   
Aragorn Elessar seemed oblivious to everything but his queen. The Steward Gondor   
was paying similar attention to his wife and did not seemed troubled at all.   
Akallabeth felt short of breath with a heart pounding so loud, it was quite   
possible that its sound could be heard beyond the body.

  


  


Someone was attempting to break the spell, Akallabeth thought   
with a flash of insight.

  


  


This realization corresponded by another insistent pull of the   
thread and this time, Akallabeth could feel its tension reaching breaking point.   
Whomever was at the other end of that thread would be suffering the effects of   
the attempt to sever the bond between them and yet as Akallabeth scanned the   
room, there was no evidence on any of those enchanted being in distress.   
Akallabeth sought out the faces of Aragorn, Eomer, Gimli, Faramir and Imrahil   
and saw that they were oblivious to what was happening. If anything, they seemed   
to be enjoying themselves and the celebration immensely.

  


  


Wait. One of them was missing. 

  


  


***********

  


  


 

  


"What is wrong with him!" Eowyn demanded as Legolas started to   
cry out, shaking his head in pain as Lothiriel continued with the spell. 

  


  


Lothiriel did not answer for her mind was too far away to hear   
Eowyn’s words. The spell of unmaking was no mere chant to be repeated. It was   
the expulsion of dark forces trapped inside a helpless victim and removing it   
required care and deliberation, not interruption. Lothiriel had never attempted   
a spell as complex as this but she forced the emotion of fear from her being   
because the mind of the conjurer had as much to do with the success of the spell   
as the magic itself. She could not allow her thoughts to be clouded by failure   
or insecurities. So many times in the past, she had filled her heads with   
incidental thoughts while attempting to perform magic and resulted in her spells   
going awry. She could not make the same mistake. The queen was depending on her.   


  


  


"I do not know!" Arwen returned just as concerned. She had   
joined Lothiriel inside the circle, mostly because Legolas needed restraint.   
Eowyn had taken up a sentry position, ensuring they would not be interrupted or   
at least give them warning if they were discovered. Legolas was writhing in pain   
as the intensity of Lothiriel’s chant increased. Arwen glanced at the young   
woman and saw that her eyes were closed and her lips were moving softly as her   
soft voice became lost in the cries of Mirkwood’s prince. 

  


  


There was something in the air, Arwen noticed. It had seeped   
into the room like invisible smoke but she could smell it nonetheless. It   
reminded her of the fires of Mordor, the pungent smell like rotten eggs. It made   
her swallow thickly to suppress her desire to gag at the stench. Returning her   
gaze at Legolas, the prince was crying in pain, a very unnatural sound coming   
from him. He was doubled over now, occasionally convulsing into an upright   
position when a fresh of pain attacked him. Arwen could see that it was taking   
all of Eowyn’s control to resist responding to her cries and empathized with the   
shield maiden of Rohan on this point. It was taking all her will to harden her   
heart to what was taking place.

  


  


"Help me!" Legolas shouted at Arwen, snapping her awareness   
into the present.

  


His pale skin was now flushed with red; a fine sheen of   
moisture had formed upon it, rapidly turning into slick sheets of perspiration   
as the intensity of his pain increased. His hands were bound to his back and   
Arwen could seem him pulling at his restraints, as if that would avail him   
anything. He managed his words in little more than a grunt before his teeth   
fused together in grinding pain and his entire body became taut. Arwen could not   
bear to look but because she had done this to him, she could not turn away   
either. Tears were running down her cheeks, in correspondence to his own and   
Arwen was actually grateful that Melia was not present. The queen had no idea   
how the lady would endure seeing her husband in this condition. 

  


  


Lothiriel seemed oblivious to it all. The young woman was   
standing upright; her hands splayed to either side of her body and her   
invocation of the spell seemed to have encompassed all her attention for she   
made no reaction to either Legolas or Arwen. The words escaping her were ancient   
in their origins, a language of Sindarin so old that even Arwen had difficulty   
understanding it. She wondered where the young woman had learnt the craft and   
then decided that such deep questions were perhaps not appropriate for the   
moment. 

  


  


"Arwen, we can’t let this go on!" Eowyn replied, wearing a   
desperate expression on her face because she was not a person that could ignore   
the agonized cries of another. 

  


  


"We must!" Arwen returned anguished. "I cannot bear this but   
Lothiriel must be allowed to complete the ritual!"

  


  


"We cannot say for certain that she even knows what she’s   
doing!" Eowyn returned. "For all we know, she could be unintentionally killing   
him! You heard her yourself, she said her spells seldom work!"

  


  


"We had have choice!" The queen hissed as she heard Legolas’   
cries became shrieks of agony. "You have to keep watch! They’ll be coming soon!"   


  


  


Eowyn turned her attention to the doorway but appeared torn   
between her duty to rectifying their present dilemma and forcing the prince to   
endure this agony. With reason winning out over emotion, Eowyn resumed her   
duties as sentry, watching for guards who would be attracted by the commotion,   
if they were not already. It was difficult to focus on what was taking place   
beyond the stable doors when Legolas’ cries of pain left her in torment at what   
to do.

  


  


"Lothiriel!" Arwen called out to the young mage, finding her   
own ability to endure in the face of Legolas’ pain more than she could tolerate   
herself. "What is happening to him?"

  


  


Lothiriel did not answer and her lack of response drove more   
fear into Arwen’s heart regarding the prince’s ability to endure this agony for   
such a prolonged period. Arwen had never heard him scream before nor had she   
ever seen him in so much pain. Legolas always bore things so stoically. By   
nature, he was aloof and emotions seldom showed in his face for anyone, even   
another elf to know what he was thinking. Only since his marriage had he started   
to emerge from this emotional vacuum that he and so many long-lived elves placed   
themselves.

  


  


Suddenly, Legolas stopped screaming. However, his face remained   
a terrible mask of pain. Still on his knees, his body arched backwards, his head   
thrown back in pain. Blood began to seep out of his nose and his eyes were   
clamped shut. Arwen’s fear was reduced to panic at the sight of this and any   
restraint left inside her snapped at this point, splintering into a thousand   
fragments as she moved towards him. Yet even as she approached, Lothiriel’s   
words reached its climax and Legolas swung forward, doubling over before a   
violent upheaval was heard from the pit of his stomach. The retching sound was   
like a loud gurgle and upon leaning forward, expelled violently the contents of   
his stomach into the earthenware bowl waiting before him. His chest heaved   
violently once or twice as he displaced the alien substance in his body. Then he   
collapsed on the floor, his breath coming from him in loud rasps as he lay   
exhausted.

  


  


Lothiriel opened her eyes then and tumbled to the floor, her   
own exhaustion showing as she panted loudly, "is he alright?" She managed to   
ask. "Did the unmaking work?"

  


  


Arwen could not say for certain. She rounded the bowl, trying   
to keep her eyes away from the dark substance that Legolas had ejected from his   
body and knelt at the side of her old friend. His lips were stained with the   
remnants of the poison and his skin was far paler than should be of any elf. She   
placed her hand upon his skin and felt the heat under her palm but it was from   
exertion, not from illness. 

  


  


"Legolas," she called out. "Can you hear me?"

  


  


His eyelids fluttered briefly and though he did not open his   
eyes, he did nod wearily, "Evenstar….. I hear you."

  


  


"Do you know where you are?" She asked softly.

  


  
There was a slight pause before he shook his head, "I am in   
the great hall."

  


  


All three women dared not speak as they looked at each other   
and then at the prince once more.

  


  


"What is the last thing you remember, Prince of Mirkwood?"

  


  


Another pause followed, "treaty. We were drinking a toast to   
the treaty."

  


  


Arwen let out a deep sigh of relief, her head drooping slightly   
from the intense emotion that was coursing through her. Until this moment, their   
hopes of freeing Aragorn and the others had been just that, hopes. Now it was a   
reality.

  


  


"It is good to have you back, old friend." Arwen said placing   
her hand on his cheek.

  


  


Legolas was still disorientated but he was recovering quickly.   
After all, he was an elf. "Was I gone?" He managed to ask.

  


  
"Further away than you could possibly imagine," Arwen   
answered, aware that explanations would be needed if his memory of what   
transpired since the spell had taken him was erased from his mind. After freeing   
his hands, she looked over her shoulder and saw Eowyn tending to Lothiriel. The   
young woman appeared exhausted but unhurt by her efforts. Arwen was glad of this   
since the same procedure would need to be repeated if they were to free the rest   
of the men under the skin changer’s power. Still Arwen did not relish seeing   
Aragorn endure the same agony.

  


  


"Lothiriel," Arwen called to the lady of Dol Amroth. "How do   
you fare?"

  


  


Lothiriel raised her eyes to the queen, wearing an expression   
of awe on her face, "I fare well knowing that I did not fail. I cast the spell   
of unmaking and it worked."

  


  


Her smile of pride was infectious and had greater ramifications   
then just her success as a mage. For the first time since this affair had began,   
Arwen could see a way out of their predicament and that gave her a good deal of   
hope.

  


  


Arwen helped Legolas sit up when suddenly, Melia appeared at   
the door. The ranger halted for a moment as her eyes surveyed the situation and   
paused when she saw Legolas. The prince’s condition had not improved even though   
he was now lucid. 

  


  


"Mia," he exclaimed when he caught sight of her.

  


  


Instead of going to him as Arwen she wanted to, Melia held her   
ground. "Is he free of the spell?" She asked cautiously.

  


  


"Yes," Arwen nodded with a little smile. "He is free of   
it."

  


  


Melia’s shoulders sagged considerably with relief but was soon   
approaching her husband. Arwen could see their earlier encounter preying heavily   
in Melia’s mind and the queen understood all too well the emotions of gratitude   
she was feeling at having her husband and her love returned to her at last. It   
was emotions that Arwen soon hope to share when they freed Aragorn from the   
shape shifter’s spell.

  


  


"You do know how to vex me Prince," Melia said after embracing   
him. 

  


  


"What has happened?" He asked, understandably concerned. "I   
remember nothing and it appears I have been injured," Legolas remarked glancing   
at his leg. 

  


  
"I am sorry for that," Melia apologized, basking in the   
fact that the elf she loved was himself again, not that stranger she had been   
forced to hurt. "It was necessary."

  


  


"You did this to me?" He stared at her, brow raised with shock.   
It was obvious that he was in need of explanations.

  


  


Melia looked to Arwen for guidance, uncertain of how much   
should be revealed to him. She did not wish him to know that just a few hours   
ago, they stood before each other’s as enemies. She did not want to tell him   
that he had been the slave of a skin changer or that he had been ready to   
deliver her to his masters without a second thought. She knew her husband and he   
would feel enormously guilty about his actions, even if it were through no fault   
of his own.

  


  


"Old friend," Arwen decided to spare Melia that trial and took   
up the unpleasant duty herself. "The kingdom is in great peril even as we sit   
here discussing the matter. The Haradirim have deceived us. They are in alliance   
with the skin changers of Nargothrond, the remnants of Glaurung’s army."

  


  


If anything could disperse the lingering fog in the prince’s   
mind, it was that revelation. The warrior in him immediately regained full   
consciousness and he was suddenly staring at them with all faculties intact and   
primed for combat. 

  


  


"Continue," he urged firmly, his voice hard like flint.

  


  


"I will in due course," Arwen returned, "but I must know what   
is the absolute last thing that you remember before awaking here?"

  


  


Legolas glanced at Melia briefly before considering the   
question. Trying to remember was like seeing his memory through a dull fog,   
vague and unclear. "I remember the treaty and signing it. There was discussion   
about a toast, something called sektari I believe."

  


  


"It was poisoned," Melia concluded for him. "I just had a   
meeting with Castigliari, the Easterling general."

  


  


"What?" Arwen exclaimed. 

  


  


"He claims that the Haradirim are unaware of the skin changers   
among them. The alliance we thought they forged with the skin changers was the   
work of Ulfrain and he has told no one. Akallabeth is a skin changer. "

  


  


"I knew that there was something about her!" Eowyn hissed. "All   
this time, she played us for fools, invoking our sympathy for her when all she   
was doing was watching us!"

  


  


"Arwen," Melia ignored Eowyn’s outburst and continued her   
revelations, "Castigliari told me their plan. They intend to murder all the   
leaders of Middle earth under their control and replace them with skin changers   
before the dawn."

  


  


"Dawn?" Lothiriel cried out in horror, "that is only a few   
hours away!"

  


  


Arwen let out a sigh and replied with steel in her voice, "then   
that is how long we have to think of a way to stop them."

  



	9. Chapter Eight: The Darkness before the Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of a signing a historic treaty with the Easterlings that will ensure peace, Aragorn and the other leaders of Middle earth find themselves trapped by a spell that bends their will to the purpose of the beautiful Easterling queen. As enemy troops began to move into Minas Tirith, it is up to Arwen, Eowyn and the newly arrived Lothiriel of Dol Amroth to find a way to break the spell before the enemy accomplishes what Sauron could not, the talking of the White City and Middle earth with it. .

  


Legolas Greenleaf listened solemnly.

  


  


The Lord of Eden Ardhon and the Prince of Mirkwood listened in   
silence as Arwen related to him all that had transpired in Minas Tirith since he   
had participated in the toast following the signing of the treaty with the   
Easterlings. He said little as he heard how, he and the other members of Middle   
earth’s ruling Council had fallen under the spell of the Easterling queen   
Akallabeth, now unmasked as a skin changer and a former servant Glaurung and   
prior to that, the dark enemy Morgoth. There was little expression on his   
handsome features but those who knew him were accustomed to his aloof manner.   
His façade may have displayed indifference but his eyes; his eyes were burning   
with the cold fire of outrage. 

  


  


After Arwen was done telling her tale, Legolas did not speak   
for a brief time. He appeared as if he were absorbing her words into memory and   
attempting to formulate a response to the extraordinary events he had played   
such a role in, but had no memory of. Yet he could feel it inside, that feeling   
he had done something terrible even though he knew not what exactly. Legolas   
turned his high powered gaze to his wife and raised a brow at what she wore but   
his attention to that detail was fleeting. He noticed the bruise on her face and   
felt his stomach hollow with realization knowing that the one person she would   
have allowed close enough to inflict that injury, was him. 

  


  


"Am I responsible for this?" He asked softly, brushing his   
fingertips against the bruise to her upper lip.

  


  


Melia touched his cheek said with sincerity, "it was not your   
fault. You were not yourself."

  


  


Legolas sucked in his breath, having that question answered   
with her response. "I am sorry my love," he replied after a moment, "I would   
never consciously hurt you and it wounds me greatly to know that I am   
responsible for this." 

  


  


Melia caught his hand against her skin and held it within hers   
for a moment, her eyes conveying to him that she loved him too much to bear in   
malice in actions he had no power to prevent. 

  


  


"Prince," Melia said warmly, "I love you and I am thankful that   
you have been returned to me. However, our situation has not changed despite the   
freeing of your mind."

  


  


"I know," Legolas nodded, "You are right, there is ample time   
to discuss my conduct at a later time. For now, we have to free the others."

  


  


"The question is how," Eowyn declared from the stable, still   
keeping watch that they were not caught unaware by guards. "We now have a matter   
of hours in which to act and our quarry is well guarded."

  


  


"Even more so now," Lothiriel added glancing at Legolas.   
"Akallabeth may know that her spell over Legolas has been broken."

  


  


"We have to try," Arwen said firmly. "If we do not, then the   
entire body of Middle earth’s rulers with the exception of the Prince here is   
going to replaced by skin changers. I do not think that even Ulfrain has any   
idea what kind of bargain he has made with the enemy. They have no more   
preference for the Easterlings then they do us, the skin changers will   
annihilate them in just the same way, only later."

  


  
"We have no choice then," Legolas met her gaze. "We have to   
infiltrate the banquet and the young lady of Dol Amroth will have to perform her   
spell upon all of them."

  


  


Lothiriel did not appear as certain she would be able to   
accomplish this. Her face clearly showed her apprehension at so much being   
expected of her. However, she could not deny that having been able to   
successfully carry out the spell of unmaking that saw Legolas free of his   
enchantment had filled her with more confidence than she had ever felt before.   
She thought of her father and Eomer still trapped in the that awful spell and   
knew that she had to free them, no matter what the cost to herself. 

  


  


"That is easier said then done Prince," Melia replied. "I was   
not so anonymous as I believed when I infiltrated the banquet hall. Even though   
Castigliari professes to be an ally, I could have just as easily been discovered   
by someone who has not. If I am alone could not manage this, I have little doubt   
whether all of us can."

  


  


"That is true," Arwen had to concede Melia’s point but she   
could not bring herself to admit defeat, not when they had discovered that it   
was in their power to free the others as they had done Legolas. 

  


  


"It will even be more difficult since copies of ourselves now   
sit at our husband’s side," Eowyn added unhappily. The idea that a facsimile of   
herself was playing Faramir’s doting wife was enough to twist her insides with   
fury. 

  


  


"So at this moment, everyone in the banquet hall believes that   
there is no discourse between Aragorn and his queen?" Legolas mused.

  


  


"Yes," Melia nodded, her expression wrinkling with disgust as   
the memory of the imposters at the banquet. "Both Arwen and Eowyn were   
represented. Fortunately, because of the injury to you Prince and your absence   
at the feast, I was spared that indignity."

  


  


"Then all we need to do is reach the banquet hall while it is   
still peopled with guests and show ourselves," Arwen declared, an idea forming   
in her head.

  


  


"Why yes!" Eowyn exclaimed. "As Melia said, neither the   
Easterlings or the Gondorian guards are aware of what is transpiring, they only   
know what the king tells them."

  


  


"And if the king is in the company of shape shifters," Legolas   
said with a smile, impressed by Arwen’s strategy. "Then he will have to explain   
why. Not even the people’s love for Aragorn as their king will allow such a   
thing to go unexplained."

  


  


"What about the Prince?" Melia asked concerned for Legolas. If   
Lothiriel was right and Akallabeth had some suspicion that Legolas’ was freed of   
her control, there was no reason to think she would not attempt to harm him.

  


  


"Even a skin changer would not be foolish enough to use Aragorn   
to strike at Legolas," Arwen spoke before he could. "Any attack upon him would   
bring down the wrath of Thranduil and the outrage of every elf still remaining   
in Middle earth. While our numbers are no longer what they were, the elves are   
still a force to be reckoned with." 

  


  


"That is good to know," Melia remarked, offering her husband a   
relieved smile. 

  


  


"I would not be so certain of that," Legolas answered however,   
"they intended to replace all of us with others of their kind. Such a deception   
would require my death as much as the other leaders of Middle earth. I think   
Arwen’s plan is the only way left to us. We must expose the imposters before   
everyone at the banquet and we must do it quickly. The hour grows late and even   
as we speak the festivities are drawing to a close. If we are to succeed, we   
must move now."

  


  


It was all happening so quickly. It felt like this nightmare   
had been unfolding for an eternity, not a matter of mere hours. Now it appeared   
as if there was an end in sight but it had come so quickly upon them that Arwen   
scarcely had time to breathe or to accustom herself to the fact that before the   
dawn came, this crisis would see its end one way or another. Still, no matter   
how much risk was involved, any plan that would see the freedom of her beloved   
Estel was one she was willing to attempt. Unfortunately, entering the banquet   
hall and exposing the shape shifters for what they were was not the only   
difficulty that lay before them. No doubt in such a confrontation, Akallabeth   
still had the power to use Aragorn and against them.

  


  


"I do not wish to fight my husband," Eowyn spoke, voicing her   
own thoughts on the matter. "If we do this, that is precisely what will happen.   
I do not wish to fight Faramir."

  


  


"Any more then I would like to face my friend Lady Eowyn,"   
Legolas responded in understanding of her feelings. "I do not see that we have   
any choice."

  


  


"We have to perform the spell of unmaking upon them," Lothiriel   
suggested, "however, you saw what effect the spell had upon the Lord of Eden   
Ardhon to see this done. It will be the same with all of them."

  


  


"If we expose Akallabeth for what she is, we will have help,"   
Arwen reminded. "Lothiriel, you must bring with you the ingredients for this   
spell. If we have to, we will barricade them inside the hall to see them free of   
this pestilence."

  


  


Still despite Arwen’s efforts to be optimistic about what they   
were intending to do, no words could lessen the danger of what they were about   
to attempt. Even with Legolas restored to them, the Prince who was a member of   
the Fellowship, there were no guarantees that they would succeed. Unfortunately,   
Legolas was right. They had run out of time.

  


  
It was this way or none at all.

  


  


**************

  


  


 

  


 

  


  


Akallabeth was not happy. 

  


  


The skin changer sensed something was wrong and yet Akallabeth   
could not leave in the presence of all the assembled guests without drawing   
suspicions. The plan was mere hours away from fruition and yet something   
unsettling had stirred within the creature. One of their pawns was somehow freed   
of the shackles upon on his mind and since everyone else was assembled,   
Akallabeth deduced rather quickly which one of them it was. 

  


  


Elves, the skin changer snorted with derision. 

  


  


That accursed race was capable of nothing but complicating   
relatively simple matters, just as the Evenstar had done on this occasion. If   
only they had managed to lay their hands upon her half-breed whelp, it would   
have ensured her cooperation. Unfortunately, even the best efforts of the king   
had been unable to retrieve the child. Whomever the Evenstar had entrusted her   
son was very capable of ensuring no harm befell the young prince, much to   
Akallabeth’s severe displeasure. 

  


  


No doubt Legolas Greenleaf was now aware that he had been under   
a spell though how he had freed himself was a matter of concern to Akallabeth.   
As far as the skin changer was aware, there was no one in all of Gondor that was   
capable of undoing the magic that had bound its king and the rest of Middle   
earth’s ruling council. The wizard Pallando according to all accounts was in   
Mirkwood, Akallabeth had been certain of this prior to their arrival in Minas   
Tirith. He was the only one who was versed enough in magic to be able to   
circumvent the spell cast over the king and his companions. It disturbed the   
Easterling queen greatly that Legolas was free because if it was Pallando who   
was responsible, then the skin changers would be facing an Istar with uncharted   
powers. 

  


  


"We have a problem," Akallabeth whispered in Ulfrain’s ear as   
Castigliari returned to his seat next to them.

  


  


"What sort of problem?" The Easterling king asked looking up in   
surprise. The banquet hall was crowded with revelers and everyone seemed to   
accept the facsimiles of the queen and the Lady of Ithilien without question. As   
far as Ulfrain was concerned, everything was transpiring exactly as it   
should.

  


  


"The Lord of Eden Ardhon is no longer under our control,"   
Akallabeth replied.

  


  


"What?" Ulfrain hissed loudly and then quickly silenced himself   
when he noticed the gaze of a passerby looking up at him in question.

  


  


"Calm yourself," Akallabeth ordered sharply "He is only one but   
he has been freed."

  


  


"I thought you said that was impossible," Castigliari retorted.   


  


  


"Impossible for the queen but not a wizard if one is present,"   
Akallabeth answered, glaring at the general who clearly disliked the whole   
notion of the alliance his king had struck with her. 

  


  


"What do we do?" Ulfrain demanded, clearly afraid at this turn   
of events. 

  


  


Castigliari could not believe that the son had come from a   
father he had served so faithfully and fought so bravely for in the past.   
Ulfrain was weak and he was malicious, unlike his father who understood his   
place in the scheme of things and did the best for his people, despite their   
foolish devotion to Sauron. Part of Castigliari’s decision to help the Lady   
Melia and the queen was due to the deficiencies he was noticing in the king he   
had pledged to serve, the king who would bring them to disaster far worse than   
even the War of the Ring.

  


  


"He will not doubt attempt to reach the king and expose our   
scheme," Castigliari offered quietly. "We must stop him."

  


  


Akallabeth stared at him with a small measure of surprise,   
impressed by his backbone and his quick thinking, "you are right general."

  


  


"I suggest that you keep your people confined to this room and   
allow the king’s guards to take up position around the banquet hall. We cannot   
allow the prince to speak to the palace guards and poison their minds with the   
possibility that their king might be a skin changer’s creature. From the wife   
who was implicated in crimes that is one thing, however, Legolas is the Prince   
of Mirkwood and a member of the Fellowship of the Nine, his word is almost   
beyond reproach," Castigliari continued, hoping that he was capable of playing   
games of deception as well as Akallabeth.

  


  


"That is sound General," Akallabeth nodded. "Go to it   
immediately. If that elf comes within a foot of this room, kill him. Damn the   
consequences. My people should be able to mask his demise and by morning it will   
no longer matter."

  


  


"It will be done," Castigliari smiled and rose to his feet,   
bowing slightly in the presence of his king and queen before he departed from   
their company.

  


  


For the first time since this entire affair had begun, the   
general was starting to see a light at the end of this dark night. 

  


  


*********

  


  


"That is an interesting costume you wear wife," Legolas   
commented as his eyes moved appreciatively over Melia in her Easterling   
garments, as they moved through the sewers once more.

  


  


"If you even think of asking me to wear it again, I will shoot   
you in your other leg," Melia replied sweetly while still managing to give him a   
look of warning. 

  


  


"It was a mere thought," the prince smiled. This situation, for   
some odd reason, reminded him of the journey to Ered Mithrin during the early   
days of their relationship. "I must confess that it is most becoming."

  


  


"I think I liked him better when he was under Akallabeth’s   
spell," Eowyn added.

  


  


"Oh you get used to him," Arwen could not help but add, "it   
takes a long time though."

  


  


"How long?" Eowyn looked over her shoulder at the queen.

  


  


"About three thousand years," she laughed softly.

  


  


"I think I am outnumbered," Legolas replied good naturedly,   
glad to see that their spirits were still high despite the emotional stresses   
they must have endured since the signing of the treaty. 

  


  


"With weapons far sharper than swords," Melia smiled, pausing   
long enough to give her husband a glance that expressed her affection towards   
him in no uncertain terms.

  


  


"Are you certain that these disguises will allow you to reach   
the banquet hall?" Legolas asked with concern as he regarded Arwen and Eowyn who   
were clad in the garments of soldiers while Lothiriel was still wearing the   
disguise she had used to leave the palace unnoticed. 

  


  


"They were good enough for us to retrieve you from your   
quarters," Arwen replied. "I hope our fortune will last long enough for us to   
enter the banquet hall."

  


  


"We must beware," Lothiriel added for the first time. Despite   
the fact that the young woman had counted herself more than worthy to be in   
their company, she was still a little reserved about making herself heard. "The   
skin changers I saw must surely be in the palace by now," she reminded. 

  


  


"I would say that they are most likely within the banquet hall   
itself," Arwen replied in agreement. "If they intend to murder the king and his   
company, then it is likely they would wait until the celebration is done and   
then move in for the kill. Legolas, you still command the respect of Gondor’s   
troops, I believe that you can convince enough of them that the king is in   
danger and hasten our arrival at the banquet hall. Melia, you will go with   
him."

  


  


"Why?" Melia asked immediately. She had begun this adventure at   
Arwen and Eowyn’s side and though she loved her husband, she felt similar duty   
to her friends. 

  


  


"Because to them, you appear as a member of the Easterling   
entourage," Arwen answered swiftly. "Do not fear, Eowyn and I will not be far   
behind. We will follow the soldiers but discreetly, as will Lothiriel who can   
enter the banquet hall as a serving boy."

  


  


"It is a sensible course my love," Legolas added. "Evenstar,   
you do your father proud on this day. I do not think he could manage such wise   
counsel."

  


  


"If word were all that were needed to win the day, I would   
accept your praise with pride," Arwen gave him a warm look, grateful for the   
praise but aware of the odds they still faced. "However, it is deeds that will   
decide how this will end."

  


  


And by night’s end, it appeared they would have to accomplish a   
bit of it.

  


  


 

  


*************

  


  


General Castigliari wondered if he had suddenly gone mad. 

  


  


Considering his present course, there was every reason to   
believe he had taken leave of his sense. The risks to himself were considerable   
and he had no idea if what he had embarked upon could ultimately lead to the   
freeing of his people from this dark alliance that Ulfrain had made with the   
skin changers. He only knew that at the time, the opportunity presented itself   
and he had grasped it with both hands. In the field of battle, he knew when to   
make use of an advantage. In this instance, the anxiety he had seen in   
Akallabeth’s eyes was the first sign of weakness he had witness in the skin   
changer since this nightmare began.

  


  


Ulfrain’s personal guard numbered only a handful of men and   
that concerned Castigliari since he was unaware of just how many skin changers   
were in the palace. He was certain however, that aside from the skin changers   
wearing the faces of the Queen and the lady of Ithilien, there were others   
within the banquet hall, appearing harmless until the moment came for them to do   
away with the rulers of Middle earth. In truth, Castigliari had no great love   
for his former enemies but even he was astute enough to recognize who was the   
greater threat in this instance. This alliance of the skin changers would be   
little different from their alliance with Sauron, which was to say no alliance   
at all.

  


  


For as long as he could remember, the people of the Haradirim   
and all the nations that constituted the Easterlings, were bound in service to   
Sauron and the dark lord Morgoth before him. Sauron’s agents called it an   
alliance but since the Haradirim had no but to serve, the nature of their   
relationship with Mordor was more akin to slavery than anything else. They   
fought when Sauron ordered them to do so and they were expected to die with   
similar obedience. Their entire culture had been sacrificed to the ideal of   
becoming a vital cog in Sauron’s war machine. There was little infrastructure   
within their society that was not geared towards warfare and even Castigliari   
recognized that unless this changed, they would become extinct.

  


  


"What are your orders Sir?" Ramariz, the captain of the king’s   
guard asked of the general after he had summoned them all outside the banquet   
hall. Behind the close doors where the feasting was taking place, the noise of   
partygoers had contracted to a mild din and Castigliari could now be assured   
that he had escaped the watchful eye of Akallabeth.

  


  


"There is something a foot here tonight," Castigliari answered   
as his eyes scan the faces before him and he wondered if Akallabeth had replaced   
any of his men with her skin changers. "I cannot say what for the moment but if   
you catch sight of the Prince of Mirkwood, you are to detain him. Do not allow   
him into the banquet hall until I have been consulted, is that clear?" 

  


  


The soldiers looked at each other in puzzlement, aware that   
such action against an ally in the palace of its king was a dangerous action   
indeed. However, many of the men present had fought alongside the general in the   
wars preceding this alliance and they had learnt not to question his orders.   
They trusted him far more than they would trust their king Ulfrain, though not   
of them would make such an admission out loud. 

  


  


"We will do as you ordered General," Ramariz answered firmly,   
mirroring the words of his general. "We will detain the prince if he enters our   
presence."

  


  


"Good," Castigliari patted Ramariz on the shoulder in   
gratitude. "We may yet save our people from the darkness had threatens us   
all."

  


  


They did not understand to what he referred to but they trusted   
him and that was good enough for now. Castigliari was almost as uncertain as   
they of what would transpire as the evening drew to a close but at least when it   
came upon them, they would be prepared. 

  


  


*************

  


  


 

  


"Are you ready?" Legolas asked the women before him as their   
plan moved into its final stages. 

  


  


"Go to it Legolas," Arwen ordered, answering his question at   
the same time, "time grows short."

  


  


Taking refuge behind the turn of a corner, they could hear the   
chatter of palace guards from the corridor beyond. This plan would not work   
without the aid of Gondor’s warriors and soliciting their aid would be a   
precarious venture at best. Thanks to Akallabeth’s control of Aragorn, so much   
distrust had been sown in the soldiers against their queen, that it had been   
impossible for Arwen to convince them of what had befallen the kingdom. However,   
Legolas Greenleaf was another thing entirely. He, like the king himself, was   
member of the legendary Fellowship and possessed the weight needed to convince   
them that a shadow had fallen over the Citadel. Perhaps even enough for them to   
consider their queen’s words of truth.

  


  


Legolas nodded and gazed at the Evenstar who was like her   
sister to him. By the grace of her convictions and the courage of the friends   
who stood by her side, she had staved off the disaster that was threatening the   
entire realm of Middle earth and might still do so if they failed in their   
mission tonight. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on Arwen’s forehead, then   
moved to Eowyn where he squeezed her shoulder as he would a comrade in arms   
before finally offering the young Lothiriel a smile of encouragement. 

  


  


No further words needed to be spoken because those slight   
gestures were enough to convey the depth of his feeling. He turned to his wife,   
who would stand shoulder to shoulder with him as they undertook their most   
dangerous gamble of the night. Although his leg still ached in pain, as an elf   
he recovered quickly and was still a formidable opponent as he intended to prove   
it by the bow and the swords he carried on his back. They had retrieved his   
weapons prior to their arrival here and now that he was armed with the necessary   
assemblage for battle, he was read for whatever lay ahead.

  


  


Stepping out of the corridor with Melia at his side, Legolas   
strode forward boldly, hiding the slight limp in his walk and made his way   
directly for the guards. They caught sight of him immediately as they took up   
sentry positions along the wall of the corridor leading to the banquet hall.   
With so many guests of important standing present on this occasion, Legolas   
could not deny that additional security measures were warranted. 

  


  


"Guards," Legolas called them forward and Melia tensed at his   
side. She gazed quickly over her shoulder and saw that Arwen and Eowyn were   
keeping watch closely. This made her feel a little more secure, though she could   
not say why.

  


  


"I wish you all to come with me," Legolas’ words brought her   
attention back to her prince. "I have uncovered an assassination plot against   
the king. At this moment, the feast has been infiltrated by assassins posing as   
the Easterling entourage, preparing to murder the king and all the members of   
the ruling council at the close of the evening."

  


  


A tremor of outrage moved through the guards who were present   
but the word of Legolas Greenleaf was difficult to discount. 

  


  


"This plot has deeper ramifications than mere assassination I   
am afraid," Melia added her voice to the mix. "We believe that the Easterling   
king has made an alliance with agents of darkness, skin changers who are able to   
assume the guise of any one of us. If you accompany us to the banquet hall, we   
will prove this irrefutably."

  


  


For the soldiers of Gondor, the memory of the Black Sleep and   
the Nazgul were still fresh in their minds, following the War of the Ring. They   
knew such dark creatures existed in this world and the fact that it might have   
taken their king was nothing to be ignored. The Lady Melia had claimed that they   
would be provided with proof and until that was proved a falsehood, the guards   
were duty bound to investigate the possibility that some harm may have befallen   
their king.

  


  
"We follow your lead Prince Legolas," the leader, a man   
Melia recognized as Darond, the captain of the palace guards, declared firmly.   


  


  


Relief flooded Melia as Legolas took charge and made their way   
towards the banquet hall. She looked past her and noted that Eowyn and Arwen had   
made their emergence from the corridor, falling in behind the soldiers that were   
currently on the move. The thoughts of the soldiers in their party were now   
firmly fixed upon the safety of the king and did not notice that their number   
had suddenly increased by two. It was just as well, Melia thought, for it was   
imperative that Arwen and Eowyn came face to the face with the imposters before   
the entire court of Gondor. 

  


  


Only then, would _everyone_ know the truth. 

  


  


 

  


*********

  


  


 

  


Arwen and Eowyn continued to follow the company of soldiers in   
their advance towards the banquet hall, remaining discreetly behind until the   
doors to the room appeared at the end of the corridor. However, it appeared that   
Akallabeth had already foreseen their possible attempt to interrupt the   
proceedings since there were Easterling guards taking up sentry positions. The   
reaction of the Gondorian guards to this was almost instantaneous and Arwen   
heard the unsheathing of swords as both factions prepared to meet each other in   
battle. She could feel the tension rippling through the men of Gondor and the   
sparks that were being added to a situation that could become enflamed in a   
matter of seconds. If either side began fighting, whatever advantage they had   
would be lost for the skin changers would know that their plans were in peril.   
Even Arwen could not be certain how they would react. 

  


  


"Stand aside," Legolas declared firmly as the Easterling guards   
barred them from progressing forward. "You have no authority to bear arms   
against the guards of the king whose palace you are a guest."

  


  


"We have our orders," the Easterling called Ramariz declared   
firmly, aware of how tenuous his position was but unwilling to disobey   
Castigliari’s instructions to them. "We are to detain you here, Prince of   
Mirkwood."

  


  


"You have the right to detain no one," Darond, retorted   
sharply. "You will let us through or suffer the consequences."

  


  


"We have been told that there is treachery afoot," Ramariz held   
his ground for his uncertainty not quite enough to yield his position. 

  


  


"We know the treachery that is a foot," Legolas persisted,   
gesturing to the men behind him to hold their position. "Your queen is a shape   
shifter and she had used this treaty to gain entry into the Citadel so that   
their kind can assassinate the King of Gondor."

  


  


"A shape shifter?" Ramariz stared at Legolas in disbelief. 

  


  


"Enough of this," Arwen’s patience finally snapped and she   
pushed her way through the guards to the front. Pulling the helmet off her head,   
her dark hair flowed around her shoulders and drew astonished cries from   
everyone present.

  


  


"Queen Arwen!" Darond exclaimed as he found himself at his   
queen. For most of the day, he and his men had been pursuing the queen across   
the palace, with orders to apprehend her and all her companions at any cost.   
Darond like the rest of the guard could not understanding the reasoning behind   
the king and the steward’s vehement demand but dared not question either. An   
hour before the banquet was to begin the king suddenly rescinded the order   
against the queen and she had miraculously appeared at his side, with all sins   
forgiven leaving the guards confused by the whole incident. However, Darond had   
seen the queen within the banquet hall with the king; he had seen it with his   
own eyes and as far as he knew, she was still inside the room. 

  


  


"How is this possible?" He mused and his confusion was mirrored   
on the face of his Easterling counterpart as well. "I saw you in the banquet   
hall but a short time ago."

  


  


"As did I," Ramariz declared with similar amazement. 

  


  


"There is not much time," Arwen took the lead, deciding that it   
was time she stopped hiding and made her presence felt as queen of Gondor,   
instead of a fugitive. "Both of our peoples have been deceived by the skin   
changers who are now in the presence of the king. What you saw sitting at King   
Elessar’s right hand was not his wife but a skin changer who has every intention   
of killing him before the night is done. I cannot deny that this has been a   
strange day with the king issuing some equally strange orders in relation to my   
capture and incarceration but I need you to believe me, that the king is in   
danger and if we do not act now, it will be too late."

  


  


"She speaks the truth Darond," Legolas added his support behind   
Arwen’s impassioned statement. "I have seen with my own eyes the darkness that   
has overcome the palace."

  


  


Darond wrestled briefly with his decision for his world was one   
of rather black and white simplicity. The rest of what the queen said could be   
discerned at a later date but for him, only one thing mattered and that was the   
safety of his liege. Whatever else that transpired this day could be explained   
at a later time, however for the moment, Darond’s duty was to protect the king.   


  


  


"We are at your service, your highness," Darond bowed slightly   
before her. 

  


  


"Thank you," Arwen smiled, grateful for his faith in her words.   
However, she was far from done. Turning around she faced Ramariz with eyes of   
cold steel, speaking in a voice not quite her own and rather unnerving when   
coming from one so beautiful, "You will allow us to pass immediately. If you do   
not and any harm befalls my husband, I will swear to you that Gondor will   
perceive your inference as an act of war! Now stand aside!"

  


  


Ramariz was clearly shaken by the threat and unwilling to   
jeopardize the safety of his people especially when delivered by the queen with   
such ferocity. Glancing behind him briefly, he nodded at his men and took a step   
back in a gesture of compliance. 

  


  


"You have made a wise decision," Arwen said coolly and gestured   
for Darond and his men to follow her. 

  


  


"Now my lady, you can make another by allowing us help you,"   
Castigliari announced himself as he appeared, having been summoned by one of his   
men when Legolas was first sighted. 

  


  


"General," Arwen greeted, "thank you for the information you   
have provided."

  


  


"Perhaps you would care to explain why you have ordered your   
men to detain Legolas?" Eowyn asked suspiciously. 

  


  


"I took the opportunity to be of assistance," Castigliari   
explained himself not only to Gondorians and their queen but also his own men.   
"Akallabeth knew that Lord Legolas had been freed of the enchantment."

  


  


"Enchantment?" Darond blinked in question. 

  


  


"All will be explained in due course," Arwen remarked   
offhandedly before returning her attention to the general again. "Go on."

  


  


"She anticipated that you and Lord Legolas might attempt to   
enter the banquet hall so I volunteered my men to prevent her from assigning   
that task to her skin changers. I assumed that if you were going to attempt   
storming the banquet hall, you would have some kind of plan to do so, unless of   
course I have underestimated you greatly. I am still new to this idea of women   
possessing a military mind," he added with a little smile. 

  


  


"I will not disappoint you and I would have you join us for   
your people are as much in jeopardy as ours," Arwen said graciously. "What plan   
I have, I will reveal once we are inside. The skin changers are wise and they   
may have planted an imposter amongst us. Unfortunately, there is no way to   
discern the truth for now. all you need to know is I intend to expose the skin   
changers in our midst. The rest will unfold later."

  


  


"Your reasoning is sound my lady," Castigliari bowed slightly   
in respect. "I follow your lead."

  


  


"Good," Arwen declared and resumed her journey towards the   
banquet room; "I think its time we join the festivities."

  


  


***********

  


  


 

  


Akallabeth could sense something amiss.

  


  
It was more than just the breaking of the spell that had   
bound the elf Legolas Greenleaf; it was an instinct that there were forces at   
play of which Akallabeth was unaware. That made the skin changer nervous and   
watchful for danger. The celebration was starting to thin with some guests   
departing for the night, however there were still enough people present to   
ensure that the plan to deal with the ruling council of Middle earth could yet   
to proceed. Still, Akallabeth could not shed this feeling of uneasiness that had   
clawed its way into the skin changer the nearer their plan came to fruition.

  


  


If the Prince had been freed, where was he? Surely by now, he   
would have attempted to raise the alarm that the king’s will was no longer his   
own. Undoubtedly, his first move would be to reach the king and by doing so   
leave himself to interception by Castigliari and his men. The general had yet to   
return following his departure from the table to check on the progress of his   
men and Akallabeth could not deny being surprised that he was being of such   
assistance. What other choice did he have but to comply with Ulfrain’s plans? It   
was not as if he could usurp the authority of his king, not unless he was   
willing to expose the Easterling complicity in this affair.

  


  
The realization struck Akallabeth so sharply that the skin   
changer almost cursed out loud in fury. However, any exclamation made would have   
been lost by the sound of the banquet doors being flung open, the heavy wood   
slamming against the brick wall as Akallabeth’s worst fears were realized. 

  


  


The crowd fell dead silent as the Evenstar stepped into the   
room. She was wearing the garb of a Gondorian warrior but hers was a face that   
could not be mistaken and as she stood before them real as life, with the lady   
of Ithilien in similar stead, there was no denying it. Within seconds, eyes   
darted between Arwen and the woman occupying the seat next to the king and there   
was no hiding that in appearance they were identical. Similar observations were   
made of the facsimile beside Lord Faramir and very soon the mood of celebration   
was replaced by confusion as everything descended into chaos.

  


  


************

  


"What is the meaning of this?" Aragorn demanded, anticipating the order of   
his master. 

  


"Barricade the doors," Arwen ignored his demand and instructed Darond behind   
her. "He is not himself, he has been placed under enchantment by the Easterling   
queen."

  


"I give the orders here," Aragorn boomed, stopping the captain of his guard   
in his tracks. "Do nothing that she says."

  


"This is not the time to doubt me Darond," Arwen returned   
sharply. "You know that I would never harm the king but you must believe me. He   
is under a spell and if you do not heed my words, we will never free him of   
it."

  


  


Darond stared at Aragorn and Arwen, wishing this choice could   
be made simpler but he knew his queen almost as well as his king and she was   
right, Darond would never believe that Arwen would do anything to harm the king.   
If Prince Legolas admitted that he was slave to a skin changer’s spell then   
there was no reason to believe that king was any less exempt. Protecting the   
king did not simply charge Darond to guard his person but also his mind. 

  


  


"Follow the queen’s instructions!" He ordered his men.   
"Barricade the doors. No one leaves this room until we discern what is happening   
here."

  


  


"Castigliari, you traitor!" Ulfrain hissed in fury. "How dare   
you!"

  


  


"How dare you?" Castigliari barked back. "I serve your father   
and your grandfather. Have our people not bled enough serving darkness! You   
would plunge us back into the same slavery we had escaped when Sauron was   
destroyed! I will not serve a skin changer and neither will our people! You did   
this without our consent and that forfeit your right to lead us! Arrest him!"   


  


  


"Do nothing that he says!" Ulfrain cried out impotently but   
unlike Aragorn, he did not have the unswerving dedication of his men that   
Castigliari did. 

  


As the doors and were slammed shut behind them, Akallabeth let   
out a harsh scream and it sounded like the screech of animal. Next to Aragorn,   
the creature that wore Arwen’s shape changed shape and suddenly, the skin   
changers around them were revealed in all their dark reality. With skin like the   
scales of a lizard and yellow eyes filled with malevolence, they glared at those   
assembled with vengeance. 

  


  


"Kill them all!" Akallabeth screamed and leapt over the table,   
heading straight for Arwen. 

  


  


"Lothiriel," Arwen cried out, "stay close to me!"

  


  


The girl nodded wildly at the outbreak of violence as the   
Easterling entourage showed their true colours and began attacking the combined   
forces of Gondor and the Haradirim. Despite her fear and her helplessness at   
being unable to join the fight, her eyes were searching for her father. However,   
in all the pandemonium, he was difficult to see. She clutched her satchel close   
and prayed that he was not hurt in this melee though it was difficult to   
maintain such a hope when all she could see was the clanging of swords and cries   
of the injured as wounds were inflicted.

  


  


Lothiriel felt useless as she saw her companions engaging the   
enemy, while there was little she could do to help them. Across the floor, she   
saw Legolas was shooting arrows with a speed that almost seemed magical. Never   
once did he miss his target and the wound to his leg did little to hinder just   
how deadly his aim could be. Skin changers were screeching in agony as the   
shafts of his arrows were driven deep into their bodies. Melia showed similar   
proficiency with her crossbow although her skill was not as honed as her   
husband’s. She remained close to Legolas, ensuring no one could harm him while   
he was releasing his deadly barrage of arrows.

  


  


Eowyn on the other hand, was in the thick of the battle, her   
earlier wounds proving little hindrance as she faced the skin changers with a   
blade in her hand. Lothiriel had never seen a woman fight with the sword and she   
had marveled at just how skilled the Lady of Ithilien was with it. Eowyn simply   
did not swing wildly but rather used her whole body to fight, as if the business   
of swordplay was but a small part of the combat process. Suddenly, out of   
nowhere, Lothiriel felt a hand around her shoulder dragging her away from Arwen.   
She let out a small cry but by now, Arwen was too busy dealing with Akallabeth’s   
impending attack to be able to assist her in any way. 

  


  


"Daughter," she found herself staring at Imrahil. Her father   
stared at her with eyes not unlike an animal, glowing with hatred. "This is your   
doing isn’t it?"

  


  


"Father, please let me go!" She cried as he began dragging her   
away from her friends.

  


  


"You are the one who is responsible for tainting the elf’s   
mind!" Imrahil accused. "Only you would know the dark arts well enough!"

  


  


"Father please," she begged at a loss of what to do. She wanted   
to fight him but he was her _father_ and she dared not hurt him.

  


  


"Silence!" He roared and struck her hard. 

  


  


When Lothiriel felt the knuckles and the explosion of pain that   
followed, something inside her snapped and she knew that this man was not her   
father and would not be again, until _she_ freed him. Her fingers enclosed   
around the wooden frame of the chair she had staggered against when he delivered   
his blow and steeling herself for what had to be done, Lothiriel picked it and   
shattered it against her father’s body. Imrahil had no time to cry as the sturdy   
frame crumpled around him, wooden fragments and splinters raining around his   
ears as he was knocked unconscious. 

  


  


Lothiriel hurried to his side after she had inflicted this harm   
upon him, examining him quickly to ensure that he was still alive and that she   
had not done irreparable injury to his person. A flood of relief moved through   
her body knowing that he still lived and what damage she had done would heal in   
time. This could not go on, she decided, her gaze moving across the room to see   
both Aragorn and Faramir approaching Eowyn at the same time. The dwarf Gimli was   
hacking his way through the guards of Gondor and Harad to reach Legolas and   
somewhere in this chaos, Eomer was no doubt contemplating how he would serve his   
masters. 

  


  


She had to stop this before someone was killed. She was the   
only one who could. 

  


  


Taking a deep breath, Lothiriel reached for her satchel,   
knowing what she had to do. 

  


  


***********

  


  


Since this entire affair had unfolded incredibly before her   
eyes, the one thing she had been spared unlike Melia and Arwen, was the ordeal   
of facing the man she loved wearing the shackles of a skin changer’s control.   
Battling the skin changers was no easy matter and they changed their shape at   
will. One instance she was battling an Easterling dancer and at another she   
found herself staring at the Witch King of Angmar. Unfortunately for the skin   
changer, Eowyn had not been afraid of Sauron’s creature when she had faced him   
at Pelennor and it was no different when she was confronted with this facsimile.   


  


  


However, now she faced an enemy she did not wish to confront.   


  


  


Faramir stared at his wife and if it were not for the fact that   
his actions revealed his loyalties, Eowyn might have never have guessed that he   
was anything but the kind, gentle man that she had fallen in love with, the   
warrior with the heart of a scholar. He stared at her, sword in hand, not   
lifting it to fight but then he was always very different from Aragorn. Aragorn   
was a man who took charge of a situation immediately where else Faramir was one   
who took a step back and weighed alternatives before attacking. As he was doing   
so now.

  


  


"Are we really going to do this, my lady?" He asked her.

  


  


"I have no taste for it," Eowyn replied but her grip had not   
slackened around the hilt of her weapon. Over his shoulder she saw Aragorn   
coming towards them both and knew that she was lost if she had to fight both of   
them. "But I have no choice, I must defeat you to help you."

  


  
"I think you are mistaken on who needs aid here," Faramir   
stared at her with a merciless gaze that bore no trace of the man she loved.   


  


  


"Please do not force me into this," Eowyn almost whispered, her   
heart anguished by the thought of raising a blade to him. "I do not wish to hurt   
you."

  


  


"You have hurt me," he retorted. "You hurt me when you chose to   
stand against me. I have endured your presumption in thinking yourself equal to   
a man, I have endured your ignorance of what place a wife is to occupy in her   
husband’s house and most of all I have endured you, Eowyn, who came to me after   
being rejected by another. Did you not think I did not know?"

  


  


"That is not true," Eowyn struggled to defend herself because   
she could not deny that she had once loved Aragorn. 

  


  


"I am no fool," he glared at her. "I know it is the truth."

  


  


Eowyn was trying not to let his words affect her but there as   
always a small part of her that questioned her reason for turning to Faramir in   
the days following Pelennor. Had she chosen to bestow her love upon him because   
she loved him or because Aragorn had rejected her? Though she now loved her   
husband with all her heart, that tiny fragment of guilt had remained in her   
heart, relentless in its determination to plague her innermost thoughts. 

  


  


"I love you Faramir," Eowyn gave the only answer she could   
under the circumstances. "Perhaps it was once true that I loved the king but it   
has not been that way since you entered my life. If you were in possession of   
your thoughts, you would know that this is true. I have adored you since the day   
my heart discovered you and that will not change, no matter what the poison in   
your mind may lead you to believe."

  


  


For an instant, it seemed as if her words affected him for his   
face showed his uncertainty, however the power of the enchantment was too strong   
for him to resist for very long.

  


  


"Yield your sword to me and I will forgive you," he said, his   
expression hardening once more. 

  


  


Eowyn closed her eyes and drew a deep breath before she   
answered, "you will have to come take it from me husband."

  


  


"As you wish," Faramir replied and raised his sword to   
strike.

  


  


Eowyn met his blade with her own and while she found herself in   
the impossible situation of having to fight her husband, her instincts for self   
preservations came to bear and she knew that it was not in her, to endure   
defeat. She parried hard, watching his side step her sharp thrust before   
riposting in return. They matched each other blow for blow, although she was   
fighting not to kill him. Faramir however, had no such reservations because the   
shape shifter’s spell upon him had turned his wife into a mortal enemy. 

  


  


"Faramir, please!" Eowyn beseeched him, aware that they were   
reaching a point of no return. "I do not wish to hurt you!"

  


  


"Oh Eowyn you are a delight," he sneered, smashing his blade   
against hers with such force that the sound of steel filled her ears before she   
felt his fist enclose around the hand holding her sword. Before she could wrench   
herself free, she was being pulled forward and suddenly, a balled fist connected   
with the side of her face. Stunned, she tried to recover but his grip upon her   
was strong and she did the only think she could, she kicked out. Her foot   
slammed into his knee, bringing him down in one swift movement. He had both   
their weapons now and Eowyn snatched the first thing she saw from a nearby   
table. Her own rage inspired because of the situation, Eowyn swung the pitcher   
across Faramir’s face. The ceramic shattered when it impacted against his skull,   
spraying fluid and fragments in all directions. 

  


  


Faramir cursed loudly as he was temporarily blinded by the   
spirits in his eyes when Eowyn dropped and swung out her leg in an arch,   
sweeping his feet from under him and bringing him down against the floor with a   
loud thud. The sound of his skull against the stone made her flinch but he did   
not rise again. Breathing hard and fearful that she might have hurt him   
seriously, she rushed to his side. Fortunately, he was merely unconscious.   
Reaching for her weapon in his grip, she was about to pick it up when suddenly a   
boot came down hard against the blade, crushing against to the floor. Eowyn   
looked up and found herself staring at Aragorn.

  


  


"Well met my lady," he said with a little smile. "Shall we   
dance?"

  


  


**********

  


  


Melia counted the number of bolts she had remaining for her   
crossbow and knew that eventually, she would have to find an alternate means of   
defending herself. Legolas who was the only person she knew capable of using the   
long bow in such confined surrounding had no difficulty. He never missed and   
thus every arrow he released met its mark. She had been covering his back while   
he made short work of the enemy but now Melia saw that there was someone else   
who had greater need of assistance than her able husband.

  


  


"Prince!" She cried out, "Eowyn needs help."

  


  


Legolas followed her gaze and saw the shield maiden of Rohan   
about to do battle with Aragorn. Having stood in battle with the king for longer   
than any human here had been alive, Legolas knew that Eowyn was outmatched and   
in the condition that he was in, Aragorn was perfectly capable of killing her.   
The prince had seen the outcome of her recent encounter with Aragorn and Legolas   
would not see Eowyn suffer in that manner again.

  


  


"I will deal with this," Legolas replied brushing past his   
wife. He was possibly the only one present capable of dealing with Aragorn in   
his present state. 

  


  


"Are you certain?" She asked, fearful for him because she had   
seen Aragorn in combat and knew how ruthless he could be.

  


  


Legolas did not answer her because he was already rushing to   
Eowyn’s aid. Melia stared after him a moment before she heard a familiar battle   
cry and found herself facing a new peril. 

  


  


Gimli was making short work of the Easterling guards who were   
uncertain how to deal with his fury of his attacks. During their quest to   
Nargothrond, Melia had opportunity to see the dwarf in battle and knew that his   
size had very little to do with ability. The axe was covered in the blood of   
enemies and as he swung it with expert precision, using his size to his   
advantage, Melia knew that without something more substantial then crossbow she   
was carrying, there was no way to defeat him. She did not wish to harm Gimli   
because Melia’s shared her husband’s affection for the dwarf but she had to stop   
him. 

  


  


"Where is he?" Gimli glowered as he caught sight of her. "Where   
is that treacherous elf!" 

  


  


"Master Gimli you are not yourself," Melia tried to reason with   
him, "unfortunately, I am not going to fight you."

  


  


"Stand aside lady," Gimli retorted. "My business is with your   
husband."

  


  


"I was afraid you might say that," Melia sighed and raised her   
crossbow. Without saying another word, she unleashed a bolt that struck the   
dwarf in the right shoulder, above the juncture where his arm met his body. 

  


  


Gimli let out an enraged cry as his hand released his axe,   
allowing the heavy blade to clattered noisily to the ground. His arm hung limply   
at his side as he rushed towards her and Melia armed herself again, unhappy that   
it would require one more shot to incapacitate him. This time the steel bolt   
tore into the dwarf’s knee, cutting short his charge and dropping him   
immediately to the floor. 

  


  


"Easterling witch!" He cursed as he hugged his injured leg.

  


  


"I am sorry," Melia sighed staring at the dwarf, "but you will   
thank me for this later."

  


  


She hoped.

  


*************

  


  


Customarily, Lothiriel would have preferred to conduct her   
spell of unmaking under better circumstances however at this moment, it appeared   
her choices were limited. Crawling under a table, she hoped she could remain   
hidden while she attempted to carry out the spell. Despite her anxiety at   
attempting to perform complex invocations in such surroundings, Lothiriel was   
determined to free the minds of those enchanted by the shape shifter spell   
before more blood was spilled. Acting against her father in the manner she had   
done, was an experience Lothiriel would not wish upon any one. Her rage was   
properly provoked for being forced into such a position and her success with   
Legolas made her determined to free the others as well.

  


  


Laying out the ingredients she needed to carry out the spell,   
Lothiriel hoped she could remain unnoticed long enough to complete it.   
Certainly, the minute she began chanting the invocation, the skin changers could   
become aware of what she was up to. At this moment however, they considered her   
little more than a frightened child and it was this perception that kept her   
safe so far. The fact that they had no suspicion that she was the one carrying   
out the spell ensured that Lothiriel would be able to perform this latest feat   
of conjuring without interference. 

  


  


Now that everything was in place, she closed her eyes and began   
to recite the words, determined to end this nightmare once and for all. However,   
her chant was cut short as the table above her was flung aside and Lothiriel   
realized that nightmare was just beginning when standing before her was Eomer.   


  


  


**********

  


  


Upon seeing Aragorn before her, Eowyn gave up any thought of   
retrieving her weapon and scrambled away from the king, determined to gain a   
precious few seconds so that she could think of a way to best defend herself.   
Her last encounter with Aragorn had taught Eowyn one thing; he was the superior   
warrior. It did not mean that she was any less a person but Aragorn had become   
who he was in legend and in history because of his skills. She admired him for   
what he was and knew that he was a strong force of nobility and courage in a   
world that needed such qualities desperately. The spell had turned all that   
purity into a thing of darkness and she hated the skin changers for that most of   
all.

  


  


"Lady Eowyn," Legolas Greenleaf appeared from behind her,   
"stand aside."

  


  


As much as Eowyn wanted to fight her own battles, in this   
instance she had no choice but to withdraw. It would be trial enough facing   
Aragorn on her own without the added burden of trying not to hurt him seriously   
when he was not bound by such considerations. If anyone could match the king and   
possibly defeat him without permanent harm, then it was Legolas. Eowyn was   
grateful for his interference though she did not envy him having to face his   
best friend in battle. She turned her back upon both of them and caught sight of   
something that sent her running. 

  


  


 

  


************

  


  


"You would fight me Legolas?" Aragorn stared hard at the prince   
after Eowyn had left them. 

  


  


"I would fight you to save you from yourself Aragorn," Legolas   
said fearlessly. He had picked up Faramir’s sword and held it up in readiness to   
fend off any attack from Aragorn.

  


  


"I am completely myself old friend," Aragorn returned, "it is   
you who are not yourself. The Legolas I knew would never stand against me in a   
fight."

  


  


"The Aragorn I know would never willingly draw his sword   
against a lady," Legolas returned coolly, "or strike one as you have. It is not   
your way to be a brutalizer of women Aragorn. Deep inside of you, you must know   
that."

  


  
"I know nothing except my friend is betraying me!" Aragorn   
hissed but his anger seemed provoked by Legolas’ words, as if what the prince   
had said had struck too close to home. Legolas blocked the strike easily and   
kicked out, landing the ball of his foot squarely against Aragorn’s sternum. The   
king reeled backwards and Legolas took the offensive, using his elven reflexes   
to gain the advantage. Even injured, he was still a match for Aragorn.

  


  


"I would never betray you Aragorn," Legolas swung his blade at   
the king who barely had time to block the blade. "You and I have faced things   
together these past sixty years than most could never even dream in a life time.   
We owe each other our lives, a dozen times over! Do you honestly think that I   
would betray you? I stood by you when you were a Ranger and I stand by you   
still, while you are king. We have battled the forces of darkness together   
Aragorn! If I have a brother in this world, it would surely be you."

  


  


"Be quiet!" Aragorn hissed and there was a hint of desperation   
in his voice as he made that demand, as if he were pleading for Legolas to stop.   
Anduril was swinging wildly before him "You are trying to confuse me! Just like   
Arwen!" 

  


  


"She loves you!" Legolas returned. "How can you even question   
that? Do you have any idea what she sacrificed to love you? Think Aragorn! Fight   
the blackness in your heart that makes you think that she could ever raise a   
finger against you!" 

  


  


"I will not listen to you!" Aragorn cried out again but the   
cracks in his voice were beginning to reveal themselves. 

  


  


Legolas’ words had far more effect upon the king than his   
blade. Legolas could see Aragorn struggling against the spell’s hold upon him.   
However, whether or not the king was strong enough to break the enchantment was   
another thing entirely.

  


  


*********

  


  


"Melia!" Eowyn shouted across the room, capturing the attention   
of the former Ranger who was tending to Gimli’s wound and ensuring that he posed   
no danger to himself or anyone else, following their confrontation.

  


  


The battle was slowly tipping in the favor of the guards   
fighting valiantly to purge both their respective kingdoms of the skin changer   
menace. However casualties were mounting and the floor of the banquet hall,   
which only hours ago had been a place of celebration was now littered with   
bodies of both enemy and ally. Still, none of the blood spilled by Gondor or   
Harad would mean anything if the minds of their leaders were still enslaved by   
Akallabeth’s spell. Until now, the skin changers had no idea who it was had   
thwarted their hold over Legolas Greenleaf and in their unknowing, could not act   
against the spell caster who had the power to destroy their plans.   
Unfortunately, as Eowyn hurried towards her brother, standing over Lothiriel, it   
appeared that it was a secret no more.

  


  


"Eomer!" Eowyn shouted, taking his attention away from her   
brother as she flung herself at him. 

  


  


Both siblings tumbled to the floor, with Lothiriel clearly   
shaken by her discovery. As Eomer reeled from his hard landing, Eowyn looked   
over her shoulder and discerned quickly what Lothiriel had been planning to do.   


  


  


"Keep going!" She ordered as her body covered Eomer’s, both   
hands pinning his shoulders to the floor. "Melia, protect her!" 

  


  


"No one will get past me!" Melia declared as she reached   
Lothiriel and took up position to guard the girl or die trying. Her crossbow was   
armed and ready while her eyes watchful of the danger. "Do as she says!" Melia   
retorted, "continue the spell!" 

  


  


Lothiriel nodded and shook her head to clear herself of all   
thoughts that might distract her from her purpose. She used the image of Eomer   
and the menace she had seen in his eyes to strengthen her resolve and focus   
herself. Lothiriel was determined to free him. She wanted him back the way he   
was. She wanted back the man who had sworn never to force her into anything, who   
made her laugh and accepted her as more than just a beauty or a prize but as a   
person with dreams of her own. Since that moment, Lothiriel had felt her heart   
slowly succumbing to him and though she would not claim to love him just yet,   
she was not far away from it either.

  


  


Hardening herself against the distractions around her,   
Lothiriel resumed her invocation of the spell. She knew the words by memory   
alone and as she poured heart and soul into its recital, she felt the stirrings   
of power. It coursed through her veins like an elixir warming her body as her   
words became more fevered. Burst of energy cackled throughout the room, leaving   
a stench in its wake that was not unlike the embers from a spirited fireplace.   
She could see the threads before her, faint, filament looking things, not unlike   
the webs spun by spiders. In her mind’s eye, they began to tighten, as if an   
unseen hand was pulling at it. 

  


  


Across the banquet hall, Lothiriel was not the only one who   
could feel it. 

  


  


**********

  


  


  


"Let me up!" Eomer demanded, struggling hard as Eowyn did   
everything that she could to keep her brother pinned to the ground. However, he   
was not only bigger than her but also far stronger and her attempts to keep him   
restrained were faltering with each effort he made to break free.

  


  


"No!" Eowyn shouted, struggling hard to keep him down but the   
exercise was exhausting and he was almost frenzied in his desperation to be rid   
of her. "You are a danger to everyone around you!" 

  


  


"The only danger is that witch!" Eomer barked. "She will kill   
us all with her dark magic!" 

  


  


"Better dead than leave you in this condition," Eowyn retorted,   
feeling as if she were astride a rather uncooperative stallion. 

  


  


Unfortunately, Eomer did not seem to agree and threw his head   
back sharply, connecting with Eowyn’s lower jaw. The blow stunned Eowyn   
momentarily, allowing her brother to throw her off his body. Eowyn tumbled to   
the floor and saw Eomer quickly getting to his feet. By now, every shape shifter   
in the room was aware of what Lothiriel was doing and like Eomer, were   
attempting to reach the young lady of Dol Amroth. Melia was unleashing her bolts   
at every one of the creatures who attempted to interrupt the young woman while   
she conducted the spell.

  


  


"EOMER!" Eowyn shouted as she ran after him.

  


  


"Stay out of this sister!" Eomer warned, shooting her a   
scathing glare as he did so.

  


  


"I am afraid I cannot!" Eowyn wrapped her arms around his chest   
and pulled back. Eomer swore in outrage before propelling himself against the   
wall. Eowyn saw the wall rushing towards her and could do nothing but release   
her hold of him. Her sharp drop interfered his ungainly retreat and they both   
toppled over in an unruly tangle of limbs. 

  


  


Eowyn braced herself to resume their fight when suddenly, Eomer   
rolled onto his back and began screaming.

  


  


************

  


  


Throughout the banquet hall, the room began to fill with the   
sound of screaming. Agonized cries of pain exceeded the sounds of battle and   
while some still battled, others looked about them in confusion. Even Imrahil   
and Faramir who had been unconscious were driven to wakefulness by the pain that   
coursed through them. Gimli who was bound, struggled against his ropes as he was   
visited by agony far greater than the injuries sustained during his   
confrontation with Melia. 

  


  


Legolas stared at Aragorn who was on his knees, resisting the   
need to scream because even when he was under the power of a shape shifter,   
there was a part of him that would always remain Aragorn and that part loathed   
to admit weakness. Legolas could see his face contorting with excruciating pain,   
biting down while it coursed through his body as the spell of unmaking exerted   
itself upon him. Anduril had fallen out of his grip and eventually the white-hot   
agony tore the scream from him that Aragorn had fought so hard not to utter.

  


  


Legolas was torn between rushing to his friend’s aid and   
letting the spell carry out its purpose. He remembered little of how the spell   
had released him since the memory of his enslavement was an uncertain fog in his   
mind. His eyes swept across the room and saw the rest of his friends enduring   
similar torment. Eowyn was standing over her brother, her lovely face showing   
her anguish at seeing him in such a state. Gimli was lying on his back, writhing   
in agony as the spell did its worst and Legolas shared Eowyn’s feeling of   
helplessness. 

  


  


Suddenly, Aragorn convulsed and with a tremendous heave,   
expelled something dark and fetid from the pit of his stomach. It spilled out of   
him like blood, escaping his mouth and creating a foul puddle on the floor   
beneath his lips. This grisly scene was repeated across the room as Faramir,   
Imrahil, Gimli and Eomer were similarly freed. Lothiriel fell forward on her   
hands and knees, barely able to keep from being rendered unconscious after the   
tremendous strain she had just endured to complete the spell. Legolas could see   
rivulets of blood running down her nose and was glad to see Melia tending to the   
young woman. 

  


  


"Aragorn," Legolas went to his friend’s side after long last.   


  


  


Aragorn, amazingly enough, was still lucid. He was on all   
fours, breathing hard like an animal that had been chased across the world. 

  


  


"Aragorn," the prince dropped to one knee beside the king. "Are   
you alright?"

  


  


Aragorn’s body was trembling in the wake of being released from   
that terrible spell but slowly, he raised his head and peered at Legolas through   
the tendrils of sweat drenched hair….

  


  


 

  


*************

  


  


"Evenstar!" Akallabeth said the word like the snarl from a   
crazed animal. 

  


  


Arwen and the former Easterling queen battled each other in a   
duel that seemed to go on forever. Akallabeth was determined to kill her,   
blaming Arwen for all the misfortunes that had befallen the race of skin   
changers since the destruction of Glaurung at Nargothrond. The skin changer’s   
tactic was to change shape often and Arwen found herself facing a multitude of   
villains, from orcs to Nazgul. It had even taken on the form of Elrond at one   
point of the battle, trying to confuse her.

  


  


However, Arwen kept her wits about her and despite her focus on   
the enemy, she could see the other skin changers around them falling to the   
sword of Easterling and Gondorian soldiers, not to mention her own companions.   
The skin changers were slowly being defeated and now with the completion of   
Lothiriel’s spell of unmaking, their plans to take over Middle earth lay in   
ruins. Unfortunately, Akallabeth was not about to concede defeat, without first   
exacting a bloody display of spite. 

  


  


"Twice you have brought ruin to my people!" Akallabeth hissed   
while breathing hard like a panting animal. 

  


  


"Your people deserve nothing less!" Arwen retaliated with just   
as much venom. "You serve the darkness and you seek to turn that which is not   
bathed in evil to stink as vilely as you do. You think I was going to let   
Glaurung destroy my child before he was even born? Do you think that I would   
allow you to ruin the peace so many had shed in blood to build!" 

  


  


"It is a peace you will never enjoy!" Akallabeth screamed. "My   
people may be defeated after this day but I intend to see that you die with   
us!"

  


  


Arwen wasted no time and swung her blade at the creature who   
leapt backwards to avoid the swing with surprising agility. The shape of the   
beast altered again and instead of facing another face from the past, Arwen now   
found herself standing in front of a snarling warg, with fangs bared and ready   
to tear her apart. The beast glared at her with yellow eyes and retreated one   
step in order to make a running leap before pouncing on her. There was barely   
enough time for Arwen to raise her sword before it sprang like a coiled   
serpent.

  


  
The weight of its landing against her body sent Arwen   
reeling backwards. She barely managed to maintain her grip upon her sword.   
Hitting her head hard against the stone floor as she fell, Arwen felt a wave of   
disorientation as she reeled from the impact. However, there was no time for her   
to recover because she could smell its fetid breath against her neck. She   
blinked in time to see its teeth coming for her throat and smashed the hilt of   
her sword against its flank. The beast howled loudly and Arwen took advantage of   
its pain to throw the skin changer from her body. She got to her knees in time   
to see creature scrambling to its feet, preparing to launch itself at her in a   
renewed assault. 

  


  
"Prepare to meet your doom she elf!" The unholy voice of   
Akallabeth escaped the warg’s mouth before it pounced again. 

  


  


Arwen prepared to meet the creature with her sword when   
suddenly, another blade sliced through the air and pierced the flank of the   
creature. The blade forged in the elvish way continued its forceful drive,   
burying itself to the hilt within the coarse pelt and emerging through the   
opposite flank of the beast. A final, agonized shriek tore through the air   
before the creature fell against the stone in a sickening crunch of sound. Blood   
splattered in all directions upon impact and in death, the shape of the warg   
melted away to that of the skin changer’s true form. 

  


  


"Undomiel," Arwen recovered enough to hear her name being   
called. 

  


  
She looked up and saw Aragorn standing before her, his   
expression one of exhaustion and weariness. It was an effort for him to even   
remain standing. Upon meeting her eyes, Aragorn outstretched his hand towards   
her.

  


  


"I do not deserve you wife," he said in short, exhausted   
breaths.

  


  


Arwen thought her heart might break from relief as she took his   
hand and allowed herself to be pulled into his embrace. Only when Aragorn’s   
wrapped his arms around her and held her close, did Arwen find the strength   
enough to speak. 

  


  


"I am glad you are aware of this," she whispered, relishing the   
feel of being in his arm once again. "You have no idea what I have endured this   
day for you."

  


  


"How could I forget?" he swallowed and Arwen could feel his   
tears against her skin. "You are all that is precious in my life, I would rather   
die than hurt you. I wished I could have, to spare you my sins this day."

  


  


"You remember?" She looked at him, not expecting that. 

  


  


"No," he shook his head. "But I can feel it. I can still what   
their poison made me do." There was anger in his eyes but there also intense   
sorrow. 

  


  


Arwen looked at her husband and knew though he was responsible   
for nothing that transpired this day and could barely remember what he had done,   
he would not be free of it for a long time. 

  



	10. Epilogue: Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of a signing a historic treaty with the Easterlings that will ensure peace, Aragorn and the other leaders of Middle earth find themselves trapped by a spell that bends their will to the purpose of the beautiful Easterling queen. As enemy troops began to move into Minas Tirith, it is up to Arwen, Eowyn and the newly arrived Lothiriel of Dol Amroth to find a way to break the spell before the enemy accomplishes what Sauron could not, the talking of the White City and Middle earth with it. .

  
When Lothiriel regained consciousness, she did so possessing the worst headache imaginable.  
  
Through the pounding in her head, she could hear the distant voice of Melia asking somewhat anxiously if she was all well. It took a few moments before she recovered her senses enough to answer the woman. Dazed, Lothiriel opened her eyes and lifted her gaze to see the former ranger kneeling at her side with an expression of concern on her face. She did not realise that Melia had repeated herself several times already and was growing more apprehensive by her continued lack of response.  
  
“Lothiriel!” Melia took a more direct approach this time, since nothing else was rousing the girl out of her unconscious state, and took to shaking her slightly. “Please speak!”  
  
“I am unhurt,” the young woman finally muttered, acknowledging the ranger’s question finally and drawing an corresponding sigh of relief from Melia as she added further, “my head feels as if it is ready to fall away my neck but I suffer nothing that will not heal in time.”  
  
“That is good to know,” Melia sighed, clearly relieved by Lothiriel’s ability to speak for herself. There was a streak of blood running down Lothiriel’s nose, which had heightened Melia’s fears for her safety after the conjuring of such a complex spell. She had put herself at considerable risk to accomplish her role in their plan and Melia did not wish to see her hurt after such a feat of courage.  
  
“Did it work?” Lothiriel asked abruptly suddenly remembering that they had been in the midst of a battle when she had fallen unconscious. The fog over her brain had lifted over her mind and Lothiriel was quick to realise that she was uncertain at whether or not her spell was successful.  
  
Melia’s gaze shifted away from the young lady of Dol Amroth and came to rest upon Arwen and Aragorn locked in a tight embrace where it appeared as if they might never let go. The king and queen seemed to be in a world of their own as they held each other close with Arwen burying her face in the crook of Aragorn’s shoulder. Melia had no doubt that at this moment, the events of the past few hours were overcoming the queen and she was drawing what comfort she could from her husband’s arms.  
  
Melia herself felt the urge to find Legolas who was directing the Gondorian soldiers to remove the dead skin changers from the hall. She would do so once she was certain that Lothiriel was all right. After all, none of this would be possible if it had not been for the young woman’s ability to weave magic.  
  
“Yes, it worked,” she smiled turning back to Lothiriel. “It worked wonderfully.”  
  
Lothiriel stared at Melia and saw the ranger’s admiration for her and felt a surge of emotion coursing through her. Finally, she had conjured a spell that had worked! What was more had helped them all in a time of crisis. Even if nothing she ever conjured after this day went as it was meant to, Lothiriel was happy that for a brief moment of time, she had been a true mistress of magic.  
  
“I am so glad,” she replied, blinking back the tears of happiness. “I was so afraid I would fail you all.”  
  
“You are remarkable Lothiriel,” Melia smiled touching her cheek, “and if I have to beg Pallando myself, I will do everything I can to see that you have your lessons in magic.”  
  
“Thank you,” Lothiriel swallowed and then remembered something else, “my father!”  
  
The young woman immediately scrambled to her feet with far more speed then Melia thought her capable of in her condition. She hurried to Imrahil who was being helped to his feet by Captain Darond. He was still unconscious from her attack and Lothiriel prayed that she had not injured her in her efforts to escape him earlier.  
  
“Why does my father not awaken?” she demanded frantically.  
  
“My lady, he is but merely concussed I suspect,” Darond explained as another soldier held the girl back so that they could take the Prince of Dol Amroth to the house of healing to be treated for his injuries. “Let us take him to the house of healing and see to it that he is tended. I promise you, he will be fine.”  
  
“Are you sure?” She stared at the captain of the guard, almost imploringly. “I could not bear it if I was responsible for harming him.”

”My lady you freed him,” Darond answered, aware now that it was Lothiriel who had broken the terrible enchantment over the king and the ruling council of Middle earth. “I think that even if you were responsible for his being in this state, he would be proud and grateful nonetheless.”

Lothiriel smiled gratefully at the soldier but chose to withdraw so that he and the others could take her father to be treated for his wounds. Besides, there was one other person here that worried her almost as much as her father, though her feelings for him were of an entirely different nature. She searched the banquet, moving past the destruction of the battle and the carnage of those left behind in its wake to see Eomer sitting up shakily. He appeared rather dazed, although the grimace he produced a short time later indicated that he was suffering exhaustion and lingering pain from his violent ejection of Akallabeth’s poison from inside him.  
  
She approached him cautiously; uncertain at how she was to approach him. Her first impulse was to be at his side as Eowyn was with Faramir, coaxing her husband from his unconscious state, however their relationship was too new for such a forward display of affection. She lowered herself to her knees in front of him, wishing to do something to help because he appeared so very exhausted. His face was covered in a fine sheet of sweat and his hands were still shaking from the pain he had been forced to endure in the wake of the spell.  
  
“Lord Eomer,” Lothiriel announced herself before him, “you should come with me to the house of healing. You have suffered a terrible ordeal.”  
  
“What has happened here?” Eomer asked, his eyes searching the banquet hall and finding no answers, only mystifying scenes of a battle on a day that was supposed to be a celebration of peace.  
  
“It will take too long to explain,” she dared coming closer to him. “I would see you to the house of healing before I attempt to explain it to you.”  
  
“I have no doubt,” he replied softly, seeing Melia and Legolas helping Gimli to his feet. The dwarf was bleeding and appeared to be rather disgruntled by the fact that he was injured but having no memory of the fight that caused it. “I had a terrible dream I cannot remember but its memory fills me with unease. I feel as if I have disappointed you though I don’t understand how.”  
  
“It is a dream ended,” Lothiriel smiled as she basked in his gaze upon her. If anything told her that all was well, it was the effect of that penetrating gaze upon her. “You are here with me now and what is done was not your fault. You could not disappoint me if you tried, my king. You have not disappointed me since you entered my life.”  
  
“I think I am rather confused by this show of affection but I am not complaining,” he stared at her with a brow raised. He was not so fatigued that he could not react in surprise to the emotion he saw in her eyes, emotion that was real and for him. The realisation of it made his breath catch in his throat though his heart was suddenly beating a good deal faster.  
  
“We have plenty of time to talk about what has transpired and perhaps we will talk about our future together as well. I think if you are agreeable, I should like to know you further, my king.” Lothiriel replied with a little smile and was impulsively emboldened enough to brush her lips gently against his.  
  
He was so surprised that at first he did not register the kiss but when the silken lips touched his, Eomer’s senses awakened enough to return the gesture and his head spun at how wonderful she tasted. Their kiss was only for a fraction of time but it was enough for Eomer to know that the elusive feeling he had sought, the one so envied when seen between his sister and her husband, was filling his veins with its tonic.  
  
“I think I should like that very much, lady of Dol Amroth,” Eomer smiled and allowed her to help him to his feet, having this strange feeling that she was going to be at his side a great deal more in the future.  
  
*************  
  
Eowyn saw Eomer and Lothiriel engaging in their moment together and felt a warm feeling suffuse her being knowing that her brother was at last finding the happiness he deserved. She regarded Faramir, whose head was cradled in her lap as she dabbed gently the wound she had inflicted upon him during the battle. He was not quite conscious yet but the gentle feel of cool water upon his injury was rapidly bringing him out of his slumber. She was grateful that he would be robbed of the memory of what had happened because his behaviour was borne out of Akallabeth’s evil spell. She knew her husband well and it would prey on him deeply what he had done. She knew that it would almost certainly be the case for Aragorn.  
  
Eowyn bore no malice for the king even though her broken ribs still ached and the bruises he had inflicted on him would be difficult to hide. She knew the kind of man Aragorn was and even if he was not himself when he hurt her, he would no doubt feel responsible. Fortunately, Eowyn’s confrontation with Faramir was nowhere that brutal although she had a new found respect for both her husband and her king after facing them in battle. She had always known that Faramir was a great warrior but until she fought him herself, had not realised just how formidable he was.  
  
She felt him shift in her lap and paused her gentle dabbing immediately. His head had been tilted to the side allowing her access but soon he faced forward and met her gaze. His eyes showed his disorientation was rapidly passing as his brows furrowed in concern.

”What has happened to your face?” He asked as his focus allowed him to see the bruises on his wife’s lovely skin.  
  
“It is a long story,” she smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face in affection, not realising until this moment how good it was to have him look at her with love.  
  
“Give me the abridged version,” he said firmly, not about to be deterred when he was faced with such injuries to the woman he loved.  
  
Eowyn sighed, “Faramir, this is not the time.”  
  
Faramir forced himself to sit up and noted for the first time that he was extremely weak and that his head was throbbing in pain. An exploratory feel behind the back of his skull proved that he had been involved in some kind of incident and when he looked around the banquet hall, noting the bodies that were being cleared away and the wreckage within the room, he guessed that it might well be a long story.  
  
“Are those skin changers they are taking away?” He stared at her in question as he saw the guards removing corpses.  
  
“Yes,” she nodded, smiling at him as he bombarded her with questions. Her heart was warm with delight because this was her husband, a warrior with the heart of a scholar who was always filled with questions.  
  
Faramir’s brow knotted once more at another realisation, “We were drinking a toast to the treaty.”  
  
“It was a very a bad toast,” Eowyn replied sweeping her eyes around the floor, “this is the result.”  
  
“Legolas did not get drunk and recite his poetry again, did he?” Faramir asked. “That alone could put us at war with the Easterlings.”

Eowyn laughed slightly, aware that her husband often used humour to hide his anxiety at situations where he was uncertain or fearful. It was a dry sardonic wit that Eowyn herself shared which was why they loved each other so much.  
  
“I love you, you know,” she said after giving him a long and thoughtful look.  
  
“I love you too but I would like to know what has happened here,” Faramir stared back at her. “I did not do that to you did I?” He asked hesitantly, fearful of her answer.  
  
“No,” she shook her head in answer.  
  
“Then why do I feel like I almost lost you?” He replied, clearly troubled by the feelings that were emerging inside him despite his lack of memory. “I feel my heart beating as if you and I were in some great peril that has now passed.”  
  
“We were,” she could not lie to him about that. “But it has passed and you are mine again.”  
  
For the first time since this all began, she allowed the tough mask to slip from her face and the full torrent of emotion at having her love returned to her, the way she always knew him, made her eyes glisten with tears.  
  
“There was never really any doubt of that my lady,” Faramir answered, sweeping her body into an embrace because she suddenly seemed to need one.  
  
“I know,” Eowyn whispered as she allowed herself to be taken into his arms. “It is just nice to know.”  
  
************

After Legolas had allowed Melia and a guard to see Gimli to the house of healing, the Prince of Mirkwood sought out the Easterling general. During the course of the battle, he had lost sight of Castigliari whose main concern at the time was the arrest of his king Ulfrain. When the skin changers had exposed themselves and the room had descended into the pandemonium of battle, Castigliari had vanished from sight and Legolas hoped that he had survived the conflict unharmed. Dealing with Castigliari as the leader of the Haradirim would be less arduous then dealing with Ulfrain’s whose deception would make the continued alliance difficult to maintain.  
  
He found Castigliari near the door to the banquet hall, standing around a body with the remains of the guards. Before Legolas reached him, the elf had some idea of what had transpired if the looks of grim disquiet on their faces were any indication. His suspicion was confirmed when he saw Ulfrain’s body lying on the floor, his life’s blood pooled under him. The Easterling king was staring into nothingness as the gaping wound in his chest revealed the reason for his demise.  
  
Castigliari looked up at Legolas’ approach and the prince could see the general sincere anguish that circumstances had brought them to this point in time.

”He refused to yield his sword,” Castigliari said quietly, “he gave no other choice.”  
  
“I am sorry,” Legolas placed a hand on the man’s shoulder in some effort to comfort him. However, Castigliari was a soldier who had served a king for most of his life. Being forced to turn against that conditioning was not easy to do and even worse when forced into a situation such as the one that faced him when Ulfrain threw in his lot with the skin changers.  
  
“I served his father for most of his life and I prayed that the son would be equal to him but I was so terribly wrong. When he chose to bring Akallabeth with him to Minas Tirith, I knew something was wrong because it was not usually done. We leave our women at home, especially the queen, when we are venturing into lands that were once enemy territory. He was so insistent and I thought foolishly, that it was because she was so beautiful that he could not bear to be without her. I was so wrong.”  
  
“It is not your fault General,” Ramariz spoke up, “you did what had to be done. You saved our people from another dark menace.”  
  
“What will you do now?” Legolas asked, not referring simply to the king’s body.  
  
Castigliari let out a deep sigh, thinking of the long journey home and the consequences of all this that awaited them there, “we will return home with our king.”  
  
This declaration was met with approval from the rest of the Easterlings who nodded in agreement or murmured their support of the general’s plan. Legolas hoped the treaty was not in tatters after all the work they had expended making it become a reality. Despite Ulfrain’s dark intentions, the notion of a treaty had been a good one and Legolas hoped that Aragorn’s hard work was not left in ruins in the wake of this deception.  
  
“I know these are shallow words in the wake of this tragedy but the treaty between the Easterlings the Westernese was a good one that should continue despite Ulfrain’s ulterior motives. It is time that the race of men come together for mutual benefit. Too long, have your peoples existed apart and has led to war and destruction for both sides. Please do not let the dream of peace die because of Ulfrain’s deception.”  
  
Castigliari nodded and met Legolas’ gaze following that impassioned plea from what he had considered a rather mercurial elf, “if it is all possible that some good comes of this, I will see it done by my life and my honour.”  
  
“I am glad to hear that,” Legolas replied with a smile and hope that things did indeed come to pass as they hoped.  
  
The Haradirim and the rest of the Easterling people were mysteries that were suddenly becoming familiar to them and one thing was clear after this affair with the skin changers, was that they were not all that different from the race of men that Legolas was familiar with. Given time and empathy that Aragorn had tried so hard to show, it might be possible to one day consider them friends, not merely uneasy allies.  
  
**************  
  
  
In the wake of the celebration, only the palace knew of the affair that had almost broken the kingdoms of Middle earth. Following the battle, the skin changers were removed from the presence of the court, taken outside the walls of Citadel and burned. It was possible that some escaped but it was impossible to tell for certain since there was so much pandemonium during the course of the fighting and it was easy enough for one or two to slip away unseen. That was after all, their specific talent, to blend into the background and disappear.  
  
The Easterlings chose not to remain long in the palace of the Gondorian king and took little more than a day to organise themselves before they were ready for departure. Despite his treachery, the body of Ulfrain was treated for the journey back to Harad where he would be the afforded the ceremonial funeral for a head of state. Castigliari had felt that that it was the least he could do to honour the memory of the father by giving the son a proper burial. However, he could not promise how the news of what transpired in Minas Tirith would be received in Harad. What made things even more uncertain was the fact that Ulfrain had left no heir and Castigliari suspected that his people were due for some difficult times while a clear line of succession could be established.  
  
The general himself had no wish for power for he was still in essence, a soldier.  
  
Within a few days of their departure, the king’s men accompanied by Legolas was able to find Nunaur and Ioreth on their way to East Lorien and inform them that the danger to the throne was no more. With steadfast assurances that his mind was his own and with Nunaur still vary until the march warden was standing face to face with the Evenstar, the group returned to Minas Tirith with Eldarion. The two travellers had done well in keeping the little prince safe, having left the White City by way of the Anduin and remaining on its waters to avoid detection from agents of Akallabeth.  
  
Arwen was delighted to have her child back in her arms and her son seemed equally pleased to return to his mother. His safe return brought a smile from his father’s face though it did not remain for long. Unfortunately, it would take more than Eldarion’s safety to assuage Aragorn’s guilt over what had happened.  
  
Since he had regained his senses, Aragorn had descended into a pit of melancholy that was very unlike him and of a kind that Arwen had never seen before. Arwen had known Aragorn for almost sixty years when he had first cast his eyes upon her and thought that she was a dream of Luthien. She knew all his moods and it pained her to see him this way. What had taken place was not his fault and though she tried hard to convince him of this fact, the king would not absolve himself of his culpability.  
  
He had taken to locking himself in his study, seeing no one as he came to terms with his guilt but after two weeks of such behaviour, Arwen had reached the end of her patience. She knew that Imrahil was feeling similar feelings towards his daughter but was consoled by the fact that she did not blame him and had skill enough to save not only her father but all the leaders of Gondor. Faramir had spent every moment at Eowyn’s side, revelling in each other’s company as if they were newlyweds again in an effort to make it up to his wife for his behaviour. The same could be said for Legolas and Melia. The lord and lady of Eden Ardhon were also busy playing chaperone to Lothrieil and Eomer whose affection for each other was growing intensely, when they were not checking to see Gimli’s progress in the house of healing that is.  
  
Arwen entered the study and found her king exactly where she had left him, in his chair staring out the window but seeing nothing but his own guilt at his conduct. She let out a heavy sigh and knew that she had to do something even if it would most likely end with them screaming at each other. She supposed screaming was a better alternative then watching him eat himself away with guilt.  
  
“This sulking does not become you Estel,” she remarked as she stood before him.  
  
“I do not sulk,” he muttered, unable to meet her gaze when she made the accusation.  
  
“Then what would you call it?” She demanded.

”I am reflecting on things,” he answered her feebly. “I need to evaluate my conduct in this business.”  
  
“Your conduct was not at fault,” she pointed out. “You were under a spell, a spell I might add affected everyone else in the room with you.”  
  
“I am king,” he stared at her sharply, some measure of fire returning to his voice at that statement. “I could have destroyed the whole of Middle earth because I could not fight that terrible spell.”  
  
“Yes you are king,” she changed her position so that he would have to look directly at her because Arwen intended to have this out once and for all. “However, the last time I looked upon you, I was fairly certain that you were a man as well and if I am not mistaken, men are not invincible.”  
  
“That is not an excuse Undomiel!” He stood abruptly and brushed past her and went to the window, “I almost had you killed!”  
  
“Yes you did,” Arwen could not deny that. “But it was not you who gave that order, it was a skin changer who bore me a great deal of malice after what transpired at Nargothrond, a skin changer who used a spell to bend your will to hers. I do not blame you for that Estel. If I did, I would not have gone through what I did to see you returned to me.”  
  
Aragorn turned to her and she saw the depth of his remorse by the pained expression on his face, “I hurt you Undomiel, I hurt you and I almost allowed our son to be used as a hostage to creature of darkness and evil. I saw what I did to Eowyn; I could have killed her with my bare hands! If Melia had not interrupted me, I might have!”  
  
“Aragorn!” Arwen took his face in her hands when he started to rant. “It is not your fault. Eowyn holds you no more responsible than I do. It was a spell! Do you think we know it in our hearts that you are capable of acting in such a manner? Please,” she begged, her eyes filling with tears because it tore at her heart to see him in such anguish. “Do not let Akallabeth win this way.”  
  
“I feel it inside me,” he said softly, his voice beginning to crack. “The terrible things that I did though I can’t remember. It is not a pleasant thing to know that if you do not have control of yourself, you can unleash a monster.”  
  
“You could never be that,” she replied. “You are the noblest man I have ever known, who is a king not only by title or bloodline but by heart. Can you not see it in the eyes of those who follow you? When you speak to them of freedom, they knew that it is not merely words to you but truth and that is what inspires all our faith in you. This is hard for you my love because of the man you are, it would not be so if you were anything else. Yours is the heart of a healer and I think it is that part of you that cannot bear knowing that you would willingly hurt someone in cold malice.”  
  
He blinked hard and when he did, she saw the tears in his eyes and knew that something she said penetrated the wall of grief he had surrounded himself. She went to her husband and took him in her arms as he begun to release the pent up grief he had held inside him for the past weeks. Arwen felt Aragorn’s body heaving against hers as he let go of his guilt and thought that she could not love him more then when he was willing to open himself up to her in such a manner.

She did not know how long she held him in her embrace as he purged himself of the hurt he had felt the last fortnight over things he had little control over but when he was done, Arwen looked into Aragorn’s eyes and knew that he would begin to heal now.  
  
“You are too good to me,” he said composing himself.

”Only because you deserve the best,” she teased and was pleasured by the smile that crossed his lips.  
  
“I suppose everything will turn out all right in the end,” he sighed, deciding that she was right. He could wallow in self-pity for only so long. His kingdom needed their king and it was time he remembered that.  
  
“It has already,” she answered. “Eomer is returning to Rohan and it appears that Eowyn will accompany him.”

”Oh?” He stared at her in question. “Why?”  
  
“I think Eomer would like Eowyn to be a chaperone because Lothiriel will be journeying with him,” Arwen said with a little smile of pleasure.  
  
“Imrahil must be extremely pleased with himself,” Aragorn commented.  
  
“You have no idea how much,” Arwen chuckled. “And I think they really feel something for each other.”  
  
“I am glad,” Aragorn said feeling genuinely happy for Eomer. The king of the Mark deserved to find someone exceptional to share his kingdom and his heart, just as Aragorn had done when Arwen agreed to be his wife.  
  
Suddenly the door knocked and after Aragorn had bid the caller to enter, saw Faramir walking toward them with a grim expression on his face.  
  
“What is it?” Aragorn tensed, all traces of his earlier vulnerabilities discarded as the persona of Aragorn Elessar, King of the Reunified Kingdom returned in full force.  
  
“We just received a message from Harad,” Faramir replied, appearing a little pale and the sight of him made Arwen’s breath shorten.  
  
Aragorn stared briefly at Faramir before he took the parchment from the Steward’s hand and unrolled it so that he could peruse its contents. Within seconds of doing so, his jaw tightened and Arwen was assaulted by a terrible sense of dread. When Aragorn looked up at her, she was certain she saw the blood had drained from his face.  
  
“Castigliari is dead,” he stated stonily.  
  
“What?” Arwen exclaimed in shock. “How?”  
  
“He was executed for high treason for the murder of Ulfrain. Apparently, the Easterling leaders did not think the general had the right to kill him before bringing proof of his treachery home.”  
  
Arwen thought of the good man who had helped them free Gondor and felt her heart ache with sorrow at his end. He deserved better. “That poor man,” she whispered softly.

”That is not all that,” Aragorn replied and met Faramir’s eyes with the same grim expression. “The people of Harad consider Castigliari’s actions as being influenced by Gondor and thus have rallied the rest of the Easterling nations.”  
  
“For what purpose?” Arwen was almost afraid to ask.  
  
“To launch a campaign against the Reunified Kingdom and all its allies,” Faramir spoke before Aragorn could, unable to believe that things had deteriorated so badly.  
  
“It appears Undomiel,” Aragorn met her eyes and said with unnerving finality, “that we are at war.”  


THE END  



End file.
